Shaken
by gf7
Summary: An earthquake hits Los Angeles, injuring Callen and Kensi and leaving Deeks and Sam desperately searching for their partners. KD established.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The timeline of this multi-chap (which I expect will go 5 chapters) is about six months after the Blyes in S3. The presumption made and established is of a romantic relationship between KD. I'm not much of a romance writer so apologies for any over-the-top melodrama that might occur. I mostly thought it'd be fun to drop Kensi through a floor ;)**

**As much as this is - at it's heart - a KD piece, it's also a team fic. All members of the team will be heavily involved. You've all seen the movies where LA crumbles thanks to a quake. Well here we are.**

**So, enjoy, and please don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts.**

_As always, thanks goes to Jess for the constant support and back-slaps. Appreciated, my talented friend._

* * *

The City of Angels is burning in hell. Almost literally.

It's just after eleven in the morning, and on a normal day like this, things around Los Angeles would still be somewhat lazy and quiet. Even this crazy nearly sociopathic city tends to allow itself to sleep in on Sundays.

Not today.

Not this day.

Or maybe, he thinks, maybe it'd just been he and his team who had been pulled into the office on their day off. Pulled in to once again handle a rather scary sounding potential national security threat.

Ultimately, though, now with that threat little but a distant memory (though perhaps it shouldn't be considering that they have no idea where Jorge Cortez is), the consequence of them having been pulled in is that when the city had decided to rock and roll, and the fault lines had cracked, they'd been right in the middle of it all. Right smack in the heart of the crumbling San Fernando Valley.

It's a bit like a disaster movie. Outside, and everywhere around them, there's fire and chaos and screaming. People are calling out for each other, begging God to help them through this nearly unimaginable nightmare (strange really considering how many awful movies have been made about exactly this kind of scenario). He hears it all, but blocks it out because right now, none of that matters a bit to him.

The only thing that matters to him at this horrible moment in time is Kensi.

She's been hurt, and he hasn't a clue in the world as to just how badly. So far, she's rather stubbornly insisted that she's fine, but he knows better. He's been working beside this woman for far too long now to even begin to believe her when she says those words. He hadn't believed her even before her shaggy haired partner had called her out on it. He'd just…let it go. Let her have it rather than get into with her. He wishes it was possible to do that right now.

It's not.

Because she's not fine, and dammit if they don't both know it.

Then again, if he's completely honest with himself, he's not exactly peachy keen either. He's just…better than her. Which isn't really saying much at all.

Sliding his body closer to hers, moving almost completely into her personal space, NCIS Special Agent G. Callen wipes blood and sweat away from his brow, his fingers tracing against an open cut there. His head hurts badly enough to convince him that he's likely dealing with a concussion, but he refuses to focus on that.

Right now, he has to focus on getting them the hell out of this.

Because that's his job. Both as her boss and as her friend.

"Callen," he hears her say from his side. Her voice is shaky and unsteady. She's trying to control her breathing, but there's an almost violent sounding hitch in it, a sure sign of likely serious internal injuries.

Those are what he's worried about. Her external ones (such as her assuredly broken ankle) are ugly and likely quite painful, but none of them seem overly life threatening. She's bleeding for sure, but he's managed to keep it under control.

Unless there's more of it going on inside of her.

Unfortunately, he's pretty damned sure there is.

"I'm here, Kens," he says to her, forcing a smile. It doesn't even come close to meeting his pained blue eyes, but she doesn't seem to notice (or maybe she just chooses not to call him on it – that's more likely). "Right here." He takes her hand, squeezes it tight. His eyes catch on the dried blood between his fingers.

He wonders if it's his or hers.

"I know," she answers, shifting slightly. She's on her back, staring straight up the broken ceiling above them. Blood dribbles down her jaw from a long jagged cut running just beneath her left eye. "You haven't stopped staring at me." She winces a bit as she says this, a shudder shaking its way through her frame.

"Sorry," he replies somewhat sheepishly, not willing to admit that the reason he can't take his eyes off her is because he's afraid that if he does, she'll slip away from him like everyone else in his life has.

These people, his OSP family, they're all he has left.

"You need to go," she says to him suddenly.

"What?"

"You need to…you need to get yourself out of here."

"All due respect, Kensi, shut the hell up."

"No, Callen, you have to listen to me," she says, "Please."

"I am listening. And I'm not leaving you." He shakes his head emphatically, as if the force and emotion he's displaying will end this conversation.

He knows it won't.

"You need to. No one is coming for us. You need to get us help."

"They'll come, Kens. Of course they will." His words sound hopelessly naïve and moronic even to him, but he says them anyway because the idea of leaving her like this is abhorrent to him. He can't do it.

He just can't.

"Yeah," Kensi agrees with a pained nod. "They'll come looking for us once everything calms down a little. But, Callen, we don't…I don't have time for that."

Her words hit him like an iceberg to the gut. He stares down at her. So pale and shaky, a thick sheen of ice cold sweat covering her. He's never seen her like this. Sure, he's seen her wounded many a time before, but even then, even injured, cut and bruised, she's always been tough and strong.

Always able to try to stand up, always fighting like hell to be on her feet.

She's not doing that right now (and despite what he'd like to tell himself, he knows that it has more to do with her overall condition as opposed to her broken ankle), and that tells him everything. Still, he asks the dreadful question anyway.

Mostly because he needs her to confirm it before he's willing to allow himself to believe that she's as hurt as he thinks she is. "How bad are you really, Kens?" he asks, unable to mask his fear.

"Bad," she admits, her voice damned near close to inaudible. She closes her eyes for a moment as pain shoots through her. Her teeth grit and her expression becomes an almost macabre grimace.

He waits for her eyes to open before asking rather hopefully (and stupidly if he's completely honest with himself), "Your ankle?"

She shakes her head. "Inside."

Well that answers that. Damn. Damn. Damn.

"I don't want to leave you." He hears the atypical fear in his own voice, and hates himself for it. This isn't him. He's the calm and always in-control one, the one who is so jaded by loss and pain that he's no longer shattered when the big bad world takes away another loved one. He just expects it and rolls with it. Right?

Lies. All lies. Losing any of these people – Sam, Kensi, Hetty, even Deeks, it'd be like losing a limb at this point. "Not like this," he insists. "Not with Cortez still around here somewhere."

"We haven't seen him in over an hour. He's dead."

"But if he's not…"

"Callen, come on. We both know that if he is alive, he's hurt as badly as we are."

"Or he's just unconscious." It'd be so easy to just go with her thinking here, but the fear of the man that they'd chased into this damn building, well it gnaws at him. Mostly because neither one of them is in any condition to fight off Cortez if he's in better shape than they are. They both still have their guns, but right now, neither of them has the physical capabilities to go hand to hand with anyone.

"It's a risk we have to take," she answers between winces. He feels the tremble of her hand in his, the slight grasping and then releasing of her grip as she rides out a wave of fresh of pain as it crashes through her. After a moment, she continues, "With comms still out, no one knows where we are…"

"They know where we are," he refutes almost desperately.

"Know they know where we were supposed to be, and they know that we were chasing Cortez, but they had no idea we came in here. "

"Right," he says dully, the truth finally starting to break through for him. He's a smart man, a logical man. That he's held out this long is utterly outside of his nature. But then again, so is caring about someone as much as he does her.

As if sensing her win – if one could actually call it that – she moves in for the proverbial kill. She lowers her voice and says, "If we try to wait this out…"

"We don't have time for that," he finishes, repeating her earlier statement. "All right, fine. But if I go, you have to promise me you'll still be here when I get back."

She smiles widely at that, and in spite of everything including the monstrous pain she's in, it's fairly dazzling. "Nowhere to go, G."

It's another lie. There's an entirely other place for her to go, somewhere neither of them is quite sure they believe in. Maybe, each of them fears, when it's all over, there's nothing waiting. Maybe it's just over.

Maybe there's nothing on the other side. Maybe there is no other side.

Or maybe, there's a judgment day waiting and the scorecard doesn't read quite as favorable as they'd like. Not with all the blood they have on their hands.

Either way, there's somewhere else to go and they both know it.

But she lies anyway because the other thing they both know is that if she doesn't, if she tells him the truth of just how badly she fears that she's hurt, how terribly she's afraid that she might actually be dying, well then he's not going anywhere.

Even if it is the only way to save her.

Save them both.

He leans in towards her, and places a hand on other side of her face. He meets her eyes – his bright blue ones searing into her dark mismatched ones. "I'm holding you to that," he tells her. "You hear me, Kens?"

She nods slowly in response.

Reluctantly, he leans back and away from her, wincing as his own injuries send pain racing up through him. He figures he has at least one broken rib, maybe two. He's tired and hurting, but he's still moving, still – with some focus - able to sit up and walk. Which is a hell of a lot more than he can say for her.

He slips his torn leather jacket off, then slides it across her shuddering torso. It's not much, but hopefully it will supply her with some warmth. Considering the skimpy all-too revealing outfit that she's currently wearing, it can only help.

"I'll be right back," he tells her. "Right back, Kens. I promise."

"Hurry," she says, and that's all he needs to hear to know that he's on operating on a clock now. A clock which is very quickly running down for her. He moves to leave, but before he can get even a step, she says to him. "If I don't make it…"

"We're not going there, Kensi."

She ignores him, pushing ahead with typical single-minded focus. "If I don't make it out of this…you have to….you have to tell him I'm sorry about this morning."

"Tell who?" Callen asks, though he's pretty sure he already knows considering what he'd seen this morning between Kensi and her partner.

"Deeks."

Yeah, exactly. The two of them had been downright icy with each other that morning. Not at all like themselves. Not playful or challenging, but actually angry.

"Whatever it is, Deeks will understand. He's probably already over it," Callen tells her. And to his mind, that's true. It's hard for him to imagine Deeks staying angry. Especially at Kensi. It's just not his way.

"No, he's not. I really…we...we really hurt each other," she answers before coughing violently, her entire frame shaking horribly as she does so. When she's done, he's pretty sure he sees blood on her lips. "You have to tell I'm sorry. I just got scared."

"Kens…"

"Please," she pleads. "Promise me."

"Okay, I promise. But you know what? I'm not going to have to keep my promise because you're going to keep yours. You're going to be here when I get back and then you can apologize to Deeks yourself, all right?"

"I hope so."

"No hope, Kensi. Come on. Tell me you'll hold on until I get back. I'm not leaving unless you do." Now he's the one lying. He knows he has to go – it's their only chance with comms still down. He doesn't really care. He lies for a living – though generally not to his friends and teammates – and if that's what he has to do now to keep her hanging on, then that's what he willing to do. Without pause.

"I'll hold on," she tells him after a few agonizingly long seconds – seconds where despite her open eyes, he's afraid she's passed out (or worse).

"Good. Good. Then I'll be right back."

"I'll be right here."

Somewhat buoyed by her words, he reluctantly stands to go. He pauses for a moment, letting a wave of dizziness and nausea pass him by. He wonders absently how bad his concussion is, but then pushes that back. No time to worry about that right now. No time to do anything but get help as quickly as possible.

Slowly, he heads towards the now horribly cracked cement staircase on the opposite side of the room. He glances back once more at Kensi, sees her staring at the ceiling again, appearing to be just barely aware of presence. He ascends the steps, hand against the wall, his head swimming with each step.

Though he believes differently, she hears each labored steps he takes as he moves up towards where all the sounds are coming from. Once he's gone, she drops her head back to the ground. It's cold and hard, but she doesn't much care. Discomfort is the very least of her problems right now.

She inhales sharply, feeling bolts of pain surge through her. Everything hurts. Another agonizing breath in and out and she starts to think that despite her previous words to Callen, she might not be around when he gets back. Which means that she might not have the chance to tell Deeks the truth.

Somehow, that feels even more wrong than not making it past today. Somehow, she has to make it right between them. Before it's too late.

If it's not already.

* * *

**_Four Hours Earlier._**

_Partners with privileges indeed, he thinks to himself as she writhes beneath him, her nails digging into his back. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is open. She looks to him like she's in heaven. Lord knows he is._

_This modified, intensified and now very sexualized crazy little "thing" of theirs has been going on for just about six months. It'd started sometime just after the nightmare of her fathers' death had finally ended. A rather brutal case had fallen into their laps. At the end of it, they'd shared a night of drinks, which had ended up back at his place and then, thanks to a few more drinks, between his sheets._

_The next morning, she'd surprised him when she hadn't immediately classified it as a giant mistake that they should never speak of again. Instead, she'd been willing to let him in, allow for an "us". Even if the "us" had been strictly classified as partners with privileges and nothing more._

_Marty Deeks likes to think that they've become more than that. What she feels, though? It's a rather frustrating mystery to him._

_There are moments when he's certain that she's as gone on him as he is on her. But there are other ones when he's convinced she's about to end it. She gets this look, this dazed half-frightened expression that seems to suggest that she knows that what they're doing could blow up in both of their faces. __It could destroy them and everything they hold dear between them. _

_He knows that he's willing to take the risk, but in those moments when she's looking at him, her expression dark and troubled, he knows that she's not._

_She always starts out by saying his name. "Deeks," she'll say, her tone very serious and intense. "We need to talk."_

_He's come to hate those four words._

_He's pretty sure that she's tried to have this conversation with him half a dozen times now (more often as of late, he realizes grimly. Probably at least three times in the last week alone). And half a dozen times, he's cheated his way out of it by doing what he does best. By distracting her._

_With a kiss, with a touch, with a laugh. However he has to._

_It'd happened again this morning as they'd been lying together in her bed, his arms wrapped around her. He'd heard her say those words, and even through the fog of sleep, they'd cut him deep. Her back had been to him, her voice lower than usual, and something had told him that she'd been dead serious this time._

_So distract her he had. With one hell of a kiss._

_Now, an hour later, here they are. Still on her bed, her lying beneath him, her arms wrapped around him, pulling him to her. His hands are moving up and down her wonderfully muscular body, memorizing it with each touch. As he does each time this happens, he tells himself that if this is the end, he's going to remember every second of it even if it breaks his heart to do so._

_She's making it harder, of course, by moaning. That sound, so close to his ear, it's his undoing. He can't think when she does that._

_Can just barely manage to breathe._

_He feels her hands in his hair, pulling, yanking. She's utterly out of control, and it's amazing. It drives him crazy watching her like this._

_It's a drug and he has no idea how he's supposed to give it up._

_She says his name. Over and over again. This, too, is like a drug to him._

_When it's finally over and they're both just lying there, coming down from it all, she says to him, "That was…that was…"_

_And then she says nothing else for almost ten minutes. He's all right with that. Normally he wouldn't be, but right now silence means that they're not having the talk. Silence means she's not saying those damned four words._

_The silence doesn't last._

_And she chooses different words this time. They burn at him just as hotly._

_"We have to end this," she says finally._

_He chuckles. Not because he finds this at all funny, but because he's hoping to play it off like a joke. He's hoping to distract her again._

_It's not going to work._

_"I'm serious, Deeks." She turns to face him, a hand going up to lightly touch his bearded cheek. "We need to stop this before it gets out of hand."_

_"Why?"_

_She seems surprised by his question. "Because…"_

_"Exactly. There is no because. There's no reason we can't do this."_

_"Deeks."_

_"Kensi, we're good together."_

_"Yes, we are. As partners."_

_"We're more than that."_

_She blows out air between her teeth, frustration showing in her dark eyes. She rolls away from him and stands up. He allows for a moment of open appreciation as he gazes at her naked form. She's stunning. All muscle and tone and tan._

_She reaches down and grabs a button-up white dress shirt. His button-up white dress shirt. "Get up," she says, looking down at him._

_"Don't want to."_

_"It's my bed, Deeks._

_"So come back to it," he suggests with a grin and a wiggle of his eyebrows. He holds out a hand to her. "Come on, you know you want to."_

_"Don't make this harder than it has to be," she admonishes as she starts to button up the shirt from the bottom-up. He rather wishes she wouldn't even if he does find the image of her wearing his shirt wildly attractive._

_Almost petulantly, he leans back against the pillows, putting his hands behind his head. Like he hasn't a care in the world. "What if I don't want this to end?"_

_"It has to."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because you're you and I'm me."_

_"Which means what, Kensi?" He's starting to get irritated now. He can come up with several reasons why they shouldn't be together, but not one of them is overly compelling to him. And most certainly not the one she just offered up._

_"It means that one or both of us is going to fuck this up eventually anyway."_

_"So we might as well as just jump out of the plane now, huh?"_

_She shrugs. "At least we still have a parachute if we do it now."_

_He shakes his head at that, briefly considers calling her a coward, then rejects that idea knowing exactly how she'll react it. Instead, he laughs._

_"Something about this funny, Deeks?"_

_"Well, yeah. It's just…you realize we're having this stupid argument with both of us mostly naked, right? There are far better things we could be doing."_

_"Pretty sure we already did that," she responds wryly. "And I've let you do that every single I've tried to talk you about this." At his look of surprise, she lifts an eyebrow and adds, "Yeah, I knew what you were doing."_

_He shrugs his shoulders. "Can't blame me for trying."_

_"No, I can't. But that doesn't change anything."_

_"It should."_

_"It doesn't. Now get dressed. I'll be out front."_

_"Why?'"_

_"Deeks, please."_

_"I'm just asking a simple question, Kens. This is your bedroom and we've pretty much seen every part of each other. So why do you have to be out of the room while I get dressed."_

_"Because I don't want to have this discussion –"_

_"Argument."_

_"It doesn't have to be an argument if you'd look at this like a mature adult."_

_"Well I guess the good thing for me is that I'm not a mature adult, huh?" He's starting to show his hurt, his replies become edgier and more frustrated. Still, as always, he couches them with just a bit of humor. Hoping to talk her down or disarm her. Hoping to stop this runaway train before it jumps the tracks._

_"No, you're not," she snaps back. She's losing her patience with this. Doesn't he understand that this isn't any easier for her? It's not even what she wants, but she knows without a doubt that it's what they have to do to protect their friendship and their partnership. If they stay like this, if they allow this "thing" of theirs to grow from purely physical into something more emotional, it'll eventually destroy them both. Why doesn't he get that?_

_"So you don't mind if I just stay right here? In bed."_

_"Deeks."_

_He's really beginning to piss her off now. They've had arguments before, but none like this. And that he's choosing to act like a teenager instead of a man, well it hardly amuses. She needs him to be okay with this._

_If he's not, everything she's afraid of happening will have already happened._

_It'll be too late._

_She's not willing to accept that._

_"Get up."_

_"No."_

_"Deeks." She steps over to him, and grabs for his forearm._

_Big mistake._

_He's a distractor. That's what he does. He's changed the subject several times before, stopped this conversation from happening. This time, it's already started, but maybe, just maybe he can end it before it goes too far._

_Silly. Immature. Stupid._

_Desperate._

_Why doesn't she understand why it's so important not to give up on this?_

_This thing they have, it's more than physical. They connect in a way that actually means something. After all they've been through and all they've lost in life, why is it a bad thing to have found someone to be with that gets you completely? Isn't having that worth whatever risk there is?_

_He sure as hell thinks so. Why doesn't she?_

_The moment she touches him, he grabs her, pulls her atop him, and then rolls them both so he's over her. Just as she's letting out an indignant grunt, he leans in and kisses her. He tries to tell her everything he needs to, tries to convince her that they're good for each other, and God could they be so much more._

_Something truly awesome._

_She melts into his touch, her arms going around him, pulling him to her. He hears her moan as he moves his mouth to her neck, pressing his lips to her pulse point._

_He's won this round, he thinks. The fight is over for today._

_He's won. He's won. He's…_

_She suddenly and quite without warning pulls her arms in, flattens her hands against his chest, and gives him a hard push. He tumbles off of her and onto the floor, rolling to stare up at her from his back, an impish grin on his face._

_"No," she breathes, her chest heaving as her heart pounds away frantically. It's damned well hard to focus when she looks like this, he thinks to himself with a hint of a smile. Yeah, she's really going to need to button that shirt up a bit more if she's going to insist on carrying through with this wretched little argument._

_"Can't blame me for trying," he says again, still smiling._

_Her answer this time is different, far more annoyed and clearly irritated. "Yes, I can. Now get dressed. I'll be on the couch waiting for you." She turns away from him, grabbing a pair of jeans on the way out of the bedroom._

_He sighs. Apparently she really is dead set on ending their "thing."_

_Damn._

* * *

_He takes his time getting dressed – pulling on his jeans and a gray LAPD tee-shirt of his he finds in her closet. Maybe he's hoping she'll rethink this. Maybe he's hoping he'll come up with the perfect argument to keep this from happening. Or maybe he's just delaying the inevitable. Yeah, that's probably it._

_This isn't like him. He's the guy who always senses the impending inevitable break-up (despite his seeming confidence, he's well aware of the fact that women – especially smart and beautiful ones – have a habit of tiring of him after awhile). He's the one who always rushes to do it first. So why not this time?_

_The answer to that question, he fears, is a rather complex and dangerous one._

_When he finally emerges from her bedroom, he finds her sitting - true to her word - on her couch, black-socked feet folded under her. She's watching the TV, staring at the morning news report as it shows the expected weather for the day._

_"You didn't surf this morning," she says quietly as he approaches._

_He shrugs. "Had something better to be doing."_

_She smiles at that, and he wonders what the hell she's thinking. She seems so sad, and it just about breaks his heart. He can't stand seeing her like this. He can't stand the idea that them together is what causes this._

_Because for him, it's the exact opposite._

_Being with her, well that makes him almost ridiculously happy. She makes him almost ridiculously happy. It hurts like hell that the feeling isn't mutual. And maybe if it isn't, then maybe he should do the honorable thing and step away._

_Even if it's the very last thing in the world he wants to do._

_"I like when you surf," she tells him, eyes still on the TV. He wonders if she's actually seeing the pictures flashing on the screen. He rather doubts she is._

_"You always say I smell like salt," he reminds her as he comes a little bit closer._

_"You do."_

_She's so quiet, so thoughtful. It's a bit scary._

_Deeks steps towards her, hand outstretched as if to touch her. "Kensi, talk to me, please. Tell me what's going on in there." He motions towards her head._

_"It doesn't matter."_

_"It does to me."_

_She looks up at him then. "One of us is going to die eventually."_

_These words shouldn't take him by surprise, but they do. He knows this woman, knows the fears that burn deep inside her. Knows how afraid she is of being left._

_He should have seen this coming. Should have been prepared for it, known how to calm her fears about it. Now, it may be too late to do so._

_"Doesn't have to be that way," he urges._

_"But it probably will be. Neither one of us is going to live to see grandkids."_

_"So we shouldn't even bother trying to be happy?"_

_"I can't handle losing you," she tells him. Her voice is raw, and the emotion swimming in it is thick enough to cut with a knife. He even thinks he sees the gleam of unshed tears in her eyes. What she's saying to him, it hurts her._

_But it hurts him worse that she thinks she needs to say it._

_"You think I can handle losing you?" he shoots back._

_"But that's the point. We need to step back. We need to return to what we were before we started this…whatever this is. It's safer that way for both of us."_

_"This is ridiculous. We can't go back."_

_She stands up, steps close to him, and grabs onto both of his forearms with a kind of manic urgency. Her dark eyes are wide and crazed. "We have to try."_

_"No."_

_"Deeks…"_

_"Kensi, I don't want to go back." He lifts up a hand and touches her face, his fingers ghosting over her olive skin. "I want this. I want you."_

_This is so strange for both of them. They're emotional people, but they're not the kind that usually vents their feelings. She rarely if ever does, he does so only a little more. They typically communicate with jokes and teasing and mockery. The sincerity is fleeting, but always under the surface, just ill expressed._

_This right now, though, this is all surface and all raw and it's uncomfortable and painful, and he'd give his right leg (or both legs maybe) to end this conversation._

_To go back. Not to before this relationship – or whatever she wants to call it - had started, but to just an hour ago. When they'd been lying in each other's arms._

_When he'd thought maybe they could find a way to make this work out._

_He says it again. "I just want you." He hopes she can see the honesty in his eyes, see that he means this, that he'd do just about anything to make this work._

_She closes her eyes, indulges for a moment in his touch. It's so gentle, so peaceful. It reminds her so vividly of another time when she'd felt like this._

_Which reminds her of an aftermath she'd barely survived._

_No, she can't do this again._

_Deeks isn't Jack, but there's enough they share in common to make continuing this painful and dangerous. And stupid._

_No, it has to end today._

_It has to. For both of their sakes._

_"This thing…it's over, Deeks." she says. She pushes back and away from him, turning her back on him so he can't see how she's having to blink back tears._

_"Kens…" he comes behind her, puts a hand on each of her shoulders._

_"You should go," she says._

_"Really? That's how this is going to end? With you making me leave?"_

_"I don't know what you want me to say here," she replies, turning to face him. "I don't know what else there is to say."_

_"Say that we can work through this. Say we can make this work."_

_"We can't."_

_"We can if you'll just try."_

_"No. We need to be just partners, Deeks. Partners and friends. That's it."_

_"Friends, huh?"_

_She can't quite stop herself from flinching at the implication in his tone. The unsaid statement of "how can we possibly be friends after this?"_

_"Deeks, please…"_

_"No, I got it. Loud and clear."_

_"I'm sorry."_

_"So am I," he nods, anger starting to flood through him. "Because this is wrong. This doesn't have to happen and if you weren't so goddamned scared to death, you'd realize that, too." This is a bit of a Hail Mary, really. He's desperately hoping that calling her out – essentially calling her a coward - will make her rally, fight back against what he's saying. Come to her senses._

_She surprises him by simply, very quietly, replying, "Go surf, Deeks."_

_"Fine." He turns to leave, grabbing his jacket on the way out. His movements are hurried, furious. He's wearing his hurt for her to see and he doesn't care._

_"Deeks, wait."_

_He turns back to face her, takes a step towards her. "Why?" When she doesn't respond after a moment, seeming a bit confused instead, he steps closer to her, completely into her personal space. "Tell me something, Kens, is this what you were thinking about this morning when we were…"_

_"No! No. I was thinking about you. That's all I think about."_

_"And that's a bad thing?"_

_She closes her eyes and whispers, "Yes."_

_"Right. Got it. See ya around, Partner."_

_He doesn't give her a chance to call him back this time, just turns and leaves. He doesn't slam the door behind, hasn't the energy for it. He just leaves, defeated and utterly and completely heartbroken._

_She drops back to the couch, puts her head in her hands. Part of her desperately wants to cry, but apart and aside from the fact that she's not one much for tears anyway, right now she doesn't feel she has the right to them._

_This choice had been hers, she'd been the one to break off something that had been so good. Deeks had all but called her a coward and he'd been right. It's something seldom if ever said about her, but this time, fear had driven her. Fear had been the decider for her. And now, fear keeps her from going after him._

_She looks down at the white dress shirt that she's wearing – still his. Though few outside of the OSP team would believe it, she's something of a sentimental person. She hangs on to things from the past, holds them close. She thinks that maybe she'll hold onto his shirt for awhile. At least until he asks for it back._

_At least fifteen to twenty minutes pass like this. Time seems to just slide away from her. She can hear the TV playing, and outside, the sudden loud barking of dogs (maybe there's a fight going on or something, they all seem quite agitated, she thinks to herself absently). None of it matters to her._

_Finally, unwilling to permit herself to wallow in this self-created misery any longer, as she always does, Kensi forces herself back together. She stands up, and deciding that she needs to get out of her place for a bit and get some air, she reaches for a pair of running shoes._

_A nice long walk – maybe even something of a hard run – will help her get some clarity she figures. It'll help her remember why she'd made the choice she had. There'd been a reason. A good reason. A very good reason._

_She just needs to clear her head and remember that. Doing so will help her get her emotional walls up. It'll help her refortify and get strong again._

_Strong enough so that when she has to face him again at work, she can do so calmly and confidently. If she can stay resolute, and he comes around, they maybe they can rebuild from this and get back to where they'd been before she's stupidly given in to the attraction. They return to just friends and partners._

_Because that's what she wants. It is._

_It is._

_She finishes quickly lacing up her sneakers, then with a sigh, reaches down and pulls off the dress shirt, quickly exchanging it for a sports bra and a hoody. As she's yanking the sweatshirt down over her head, she hears her cell ring. It's a somewhat surprising sudden sound, and she stares at the little phone for a long moment, looking at it like it's a snake with two heads. Like it might bite her._

_What if it's him? What if she chose not to go surfing, but rather went home instead. His place is only ten minutes away, he's certainly had time to get there. And if he is at his home, he's probably sitting on his own couch, turning their last conversation over in his head. Thinking about the things he could have and should have said. Maybe he's calling to say them now._

_She knows he's not._

_He wouldn't continue this via the phone. Considering the closed down kind of people they are, it's odd enough for them to even have had the argument, as terribly emotional as it had been. They certainly won't be continuing it via something so impersonal._

_Still, it's with considerable hesitancy that she finally picks up the cell and looks down at the Caller ID. Eric. Oh shit._

_She stabs the "answer" key. "It's Kensi."_

_"Hey, Kens," Eric says, sounding a bit sleepy. "Good morning."_

_"Morning," she says, refusing to allow for the "good part"._

_Apparently, he picks up on that because he asks, "You okay?"_

_"Yeah, why?"_

_"You just sound…not like yourself."_

_She frowns at that. She can't be so transparent. She has to absorb this. It was her choice. She has no right to sulk and dwell on it. She has to move on._

_"No, I'm fine. I just woke up. What's up?"_

_"We need you in. We just got intel on a bigtime possible weapons deal going down in a few hours. Granger is recalling the whole team."_

_"Awesome. All right, I'm on my way."_

_"You sure you're okay?"_

_"Yeah, just need some coffee."_

_"You'll have to get it here. Time is of the essence."_

_"Got it. Get the pot brewing."_

_"Check. You going to pick up Deeks on your way in?"_

_"You haven't called him yet?"_

_"He was next up unless you want to."_

_"He's probably surfing. Go ahead and call him."_

_"Should I tell you to expect him?"_

_"No."_

_It's too flat an answer, but she makes no effort to elaborate on it. She knows that it's exactly the kind of answer to send off alarm bells, but she's hopeful that Eric is too distracted by whatever is happening at Ops to think too much on it._

_"Okay. Then, uh, I'll see you in twenty?"_

_"Copy that." And with that, she hangs up. She enters the bathroom and looks at her reflection in the mirror. To her own eyes, she seems tired and sad._

_She closes her eyes, steels her nerves. Hardens her expressions. Blanks it. Controls. Controls herself._

_And then she heads into work._

_Heads in to face him._

* * *

She thinks maybe she really is dying.

And God does it hurt.

Her ankle is broken, and likely a few of her ribs as well. What else is injured, she can only imagine, but it feels a bit like she's on fire from the inside out.

None of that means as much as the war being raged in her heart and mind. A war she's already lost. When she had ended the "thing" with Deeks a few hours earlier, it had been to save them both from the pain of exactly this.

Only, she'd figured it would be Deeks that she would be losing, not the other way around. Turns out Fate has a rather devilish sense of humor on her.

The timeline for the day is almost amazing to her. The discussion – no, argument - between she and Deeks had occurred at some time just before seven in the morning. By eight, they'd both been at the Mission doing their damnedest to ignore each other. By nine, she and Callen had been on their way to try to stop a fast-talking bad-tempered over-his-head little street thug named Jorge Cortez who had somehow lucked his way into the weapons deal of the century from trading the codes to explosive device that could have leveled Los Angeles.

Turns out that they needn't have worried so much about the device. No, Mother Nature had her own plans for Los Angeles. At just after ten in the morning, the San Andreas fault had moaned and groaned and the city had come apart as a massive earthquake had rumbled through her.

And now, thanks to that earthquake and an ill-advised decision by her (she's made a couple really bad ones today, she thinks – not really her best morning ever) to chase after Cortez when he'd fled once he'd realized that she and Callen were Federal Agents, she's lying on the cracked and broken floor of an old factory, wondering if she's ever going to see the sunlight again.

Wondering if she's ever going to see Deeks again.

She thinks about this morning, thinks about the decisions she's made.

And thinks about living a life alone and afraid.

Maybe she's run out of time to change that now.

But maybe there's still time to say the things she needs to.

She smiles a bit, feeling suddenly very warm. Fever and infection, she imagines. Well, perhaps that makes the rambling she's about to do that much easier to rationalized. Not that there's a need for that anymore.

She again lies her head back on the cold cement. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and says, "Deeks, I know you can't hear me, but we need to talk."

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Many apologies for the delays - my job has been taking up the majority of my time. This was a bit of a difficult chapter to write simply because we've never really seen Deeks really angry/hurt on the show. I tried to go from what we have seen of him (Human Traffic was a huge source of inspiration) but apologies if it feels OOC or just plain silly melodramatic. I thank you all for reading and hope you enjoy and continue to come back and humor the sometimes long delays. I'll endeavor to update much quicker next time. **_

_**Please note that anything in italics symbolizes a flashback.**_

_**Timeline: About six months or so after the events of Blye, K Part 2. **_

_**As always, thanks to my writing buddies on Twitter. You ladies are awesome.**_

* * *

It's an absolutely horrible thing to think (much less say, which even he – the king of babbling out semi-idiotic things that no one else ever would - wouldn't dare), but think it Detective Marty Deeks does because right now, he's damned glad for the distraction of the injured (thankfully none seriously) people around him.

Glad mostly because all of the blood and tears and pain (and Jesus does he feel like an ass right about now be even slightly thankful for these awful things) are keeping him from being able to expend too much time and energy thinking about her. The key words there, of course, being "too much" because despite all of the frantic activity going on around him, he sure as hell is still thinking about her.

Thinking and worrying. Because she's out there somewhere. In the middle of a city that is quite literally burning and coming apart at its seams.

The initial news reports that they've been able to pick up over the shortwave radios have stated that the size of the earthquake is on par with the 1994 Northridge one. On par seismically anyway, but if initial on-the-street interviews can be believed (and he knows that this should always be done carefully because typically, disasters of this kind of nature tend to bring on hysteria and panic long before calm and reason), the damage from this shaker is far worse than it had been sixteen years ago.

And that's saying something. Something really terrible.

He tries to remind himself that she's not out there alone. She's with Callen. Which means that she's probably just fine. It doesn't work, though, because the truth is that he can tell himself all of that until he's hearing echoes in his brain, but he just doesn't know for sure. He hopes, even believes it (because it's Kensi and she's always just fine, he thinks with a degree of both pride and anger), but the uncertainty of it all scares him far more than he'd really like to admit.

"Deeks," he hears. He doesn't move from his position (currently, he's standing over a sink, washing bright red blood off his hands – he's been doing this almost absently for about five minutes now). "Deeks." A little bit louder this time, coming from a spot right next to him. "Deeks? Hey, you okay?"

He feels a large hand settle on his shoulder, hard fingers grinding into his skin. That gets his attention and he turns to see Sam Hanna standing just a few inches away from him, blood streaking down his entirely too serious face from a cut across his right cheekbone. His dark eyes are wide and worried.

It's Sam's blood that brings Deeks back to reality and away from the almost manic scrubbing of his hands. Just the little trickle of red fluid down the big man's face is all it to takes to remind him of who he is. Kensi, well despite what had occurred between the two of them just a few hours earlier (he finds it hard to believe that so little time has passed considering how much has happened in just the last hour alone) she means everything to him, but he's not a man who ignores others to focus on something he can do little about. He can't be that man.

"We should clean that up," Deeks says to him, motioning towards the nasty looking cut. He's not one bit surprised when the former SEAL shakes his head.

"No, I'm good," Sam grunts. "You? Your hand looks pretty tore up. That happen during the quake?" He's looking right down at Deeks' left hand, which is swollen and cut, looking like it'd connected hard against something.

"Must have," Deeks answers, but it's a fairly badly told lie and Sam knows it. Deeks doesn't give him long to dwell on that (or the fact that Deeks had started the day uninjured) before he says, "But I'm good, too. All good." Normally, he wouldn't bother to front. What's going on right now is hell and admitting to such would hardly make him weak but looking back at Sam, he knows that what's needed of him right now is calm.

Which means no jokes, not yet. Maybe there will be time for his trademark brand of levity later after everything is said and done and the recovery and healing can begin, but for now, everyone needs to stay focused on the main goal, which is quite simply: help those who need to be helped and find Kensi and Callen.

"Rubbish," they hear from behind them, the typical absence of footfalls greeting their ears. They turn to see Hetty standing there, looking as tired and concerned as they are. There are several cuts across her face, and her jacket (one which Deeks just knows is worth more than the sum of his belongings) is torn at the left arm, exposing a bloody gash there. "Neither one of you is good."

The men turn to face her. "Hetty," Sam greets, refusing to address his own wounds. "You're bleeding."

"As are you, Mr. Hanna. And just like you, I've assessed myself as not being seriously injured enough to require assistance."

Deeks frowns at that. "We should still check your arm." He then nods towards Sam. "And his head. Just to be safe."

Sam and Hetty exchange a look, like they're both looking for ways to get out of this. Deeks allows for a moment of amusement as he watches Hetty – who is typically the one demanding that everyone be checked out and taken care of – showing considerable hesitation about allowing herself to be a patient right now.

So Deeks pushes a bit, somewhat because he needs to and somewhat because he can. "We need you, Hetty. You, too, Sam. With Callen and Kensi out there…"

"Fine Sam growls. "But make it quick. And no peroxide."

"Really?" Deeks asks with a chuckle.

"Really. I hate that stuff."

"Big tough SEAL like you?"

"You want me to show you what a big tough SEAL like me can do to a…."

"Yeah, okay, so no need to finish that sentence," Deeks answers, holding up his hands. "Why don't you both sit down? I'll check you out real quick and get us back to doing what we should be doing, all right?"

Both Hetty and Sam hear the implication in his words. It's Hetty who verbalizes it, her voice still so calm and measured despite the chaos around them. "We will find them, Mr. Deeks." She could have added more, could have assured him that they're both fine, but Henrietta Lange isn't a woman to make promises she can't keep, and right now, with all of the uncertainty going around them, this is simply something she can't be sure of. So instead she pats his hand, and tries to use her force of will to give him the faith he so desperately needs right about now.

Faith that they will find their missing teammates.

Faith that he will see Kensi again.

After all she has seen and done and been through, Hetty isn't a woman to miss much. Certainly not the massive sparks that her two youngest agents have been throwing off for some time now. And yes, she's known about their relationship (though she is unaware of the strange terms of it). She supposes that she could have – and even should have – stepped in a long time ago to stop it. Reminded them both of the risks of crossing the line. She hadn't, though, simply because of all people, she understands the sacrifices made for this job.

She understands the crushing loneliness that often accompanies it because there are so very few people out there who could ever truly understand the crazy lives that they lead. It seems to her, then, that if two of her agents can find solace and even love in each other and do so in a way that doesn't negatively impact their working relationship, well then they should be allowed to do so.

Unfortunately, judging by their apparent coolness to each other a few hours earlier as well as Kensi's unusual eagerness to work with Callen instead of Deeks on a case, it had indeed negatively affected their working relationship.

Which means that she'll likely need to step in and deal with it.

Assuming they can't.

That they can is still her desperate hope. She sees so much potential for the two of them if they can only work this out. That said, she more than anyone else knows what they both have been through (so much loss and abandonment) in their pasts. Sometimes, try as one might, the past is impossible to get beyond.

Especially when it's unresolved.

Deeks simply nods his understanding of her words. Using mostly his uninjured hand, he tends to Sam and Hetty quickly, almost without comment. A few stray and spectacularly unfunny jokes pop to mind – especially when Sam winces as he probes the cut – but he stays quiet, wanting to move past this and get back to the part where they can do something proactive.

Something that will result in finding Kensi and Callen.

His mind drifts as he presses a white gauze pad against Hetty's wounded arm. He sees the color of his own fingers, slightly dark against her much paler skin. A few hours earlier, it'd been in reverse. A few hours earlier, Kensi had the been the one with the darker complexion – her almost golden skin shimmering as he'd pressed kisses up and down her…

He shakes his head, pulling himself forcefully from this line of thought.

That he'd been lying in bed with her less than half a day earlier, her throaty moans rumbling in his ears, her nails scraping small red lines down and across the skin of his back, well that feels almost absurd to him now. Almost surreal.

And yet he knows for a fact that it had happened.

As had the breakup that had occurred right after.

He feels a flare of hurt and anger at this, but it's almost immediately taken over by fear. Mostly because while it tears at him to think that she really doesn't want to give them a fighting chance, it frightens him more to think that he'll never have the chance to convince her just how right they could be for each other.

"Deeks," Sam says softly, having noticed the way that the detective had seemed to drift off. He has a good idea what Deeks is thinking about. "You with me?"

"Yeah, I'm here," the younger man answers, almost automatically, his eyes rising up to meet Sam's. He nods his head as if to confirm his own words.

"Good. Keep your head in the game."

"Understood." He looks at Hetty when he says this, sees her concern for him, and suddenly, in that moment, he knows that she knows everything. It rattles him a bit, and he hasn't the mental strength to hide this from her.

She simply smiles in response, and says, "Why don't you join Mr. Beale and Ms. Jones up in Ops, Mr. Deeks. I'm sure they could use your help getting our equipment back up and running." The unsaid implication is that once it's all back up, well then maybe they might have a much better chance of finding Kensi and Callen. As it stands right now, they only have a general idea of where their two teammates are. They know that Callen and Kensi had pursued their lead suspect on foot. Beyond that, well they're pretty much blind.

"On it," Deeks nods, then heads up the stairs. He's relieved to be away from her for the moment, away from the understanding he sees there. Mostly because he doesn't quite understand it all yet himself, doesn't really know what he's feeling.

Just knows that he's scared.

Scared that he's already too late. Scared that he's already lost Kensi and there's absolutely nothing he can do about it.

* * *

_She'd told him to go surf so that's exactly what he'd gone and done. Well kind of._

_He'd made his way down to the beach, taken one look at his board, and decided to leave it racked atop his Malibu. Instead, he'd chosen to go the route of just sitting on the sand and watching the waves move sand in and out._

_There's something off about this morning, he thinks, but he can't quite figure out what it is. It's probably the emotions surging through him thanks to the "breakup" but damned if it doesn't feel like more._

_He watches the birds as they soar about, their patterns strangely uneven. If he was paying more attention, he'd even call their movements bizarre and troubling._

_Then again, this whole morning has been exactly that._

_Nothing quite like waking up in heaven and ending up in hell._

_A bit melodramatic for sure, but that's kind of how he feels right about now. Just an hour earlier, he'd been lying in her arms, her breath whispering against his skin as she'd peppered him with kisses. And now? Now, it's the wind that brushes past him. A bit cold, and not as comforting as it usually is._

_He sighs, drops his head to his hands, wincing slightly as he does so._

_Every word between them replays in his head as he wonders what he could have said differently. How he could have gotten through to her, made her understand. Made her see just how good they could be with and for each other._

_Absent his ability to convince her, he wonders why she's the one he can't just walk away from._

_Sure, he's never been broken up with before (first time for everything, he realizes with just a hint of macabre amusement), but he's certainly cared – even been in love - before. There have been women he's dated that he hadn't wanted to walk away from. And yet he had. Because he'd accepted the end of things._

_So why can't he now?_

_Why can't he just go with it and save what's left to save? The friendship, the partnership? Those are more important than the romance, right? Right? Yes, right. Absolutely right. So again, why can't he just let her go?_

_The answer is simple and obvious – because he wants more. Because he knows that if she'd just let them, they could be so much more._

_But therein lay the problem. Because of her still fairly murky past (Kensi's not much of a sharer, which means that much of her background remains a mystery to him), she seems utterly unwilling to even consider rolling the dice on them._

_Even if it's a gamble that could bring with it significant winnings. In this case, happiness and companionship._

_He shakes his head. Enough of this, he tells himself. She's made her choice. He's not going to be the guy who acts like a teenager. He's not going to be the one who feels something while she feels nothing. If she wants this over with and behind them, well then fine. Fine. Okay, yeah. He'll play along._

_If that's what she wants, then that's what she'll get._

_He stands up, kicks the sand, anger causing huge clumps to fly. It's just as he's watching grains of fly out towards the water when his cell rings. He stares dumbly down towards his pocket for a moment, wondering (hoping) if it's her._

_He knows it's not, though. Because dammit, she's too stubborn._

_He pulls the cell out, sees the number for Ops._

_"Deeks," he growls as he answers it._

_"Oh, sorry," Eric answers. "I…did I…"_

_"No. What do you need?" His tone is clipped, utterly unlike him, and Eric doesn't deserve this, but he just doesn't care. He can apologize later if Eric is still smarting from it then, but for now, he's not in the mood to be good ol' Deeks._

_The guy who just rolls with all the shit life seems to enjoy piling atop him._

_"We…uh…need you in. Case came up that needs immediate attention."_

_"All right. I'm on my way."_

_There's a pause, and then Eric says, almost experimentally (like he's fishing for something, like maybe he already knows that something very strange is going on between the partners), "You going to pick Kensi up on the way in?"_

_"No," Deeks says simply. He has no way to know that just five minutes earlier, Kensi had replied in almost exactly the same way to Eric._

_"Right. Okay. See you shortly."_

_The line goes dead. Deeks stares at it a moment longer, then stuffs the cell back into his pocket. He glances back up at the sky, watches as the birds continue their bizarre movements. In the distance, he hears the barking of dogs – several of them, actually. It's odd, very odd._

_But then, this has been one hell of an odd day already._

_It's about to get a whole lot odder._

* * *

_He arrives before she does, and for that, he's at least somewhat relieved. It allows him to put himself into business mode, get ready for the case without the distraction of well…her._

_He finds Callen and Sam already there, typically bantering with each other about something inane. Normally, he'd join in, throw a few barbs, maybe talk about the latest Clippers game, but not today. Today, he just listens, lets their words wash past him. When Callen tries to pull him in, Deeks simply shrugs and punts it back with a lame "no idea", drawing curious looks from both of the men._

_They know something is up, but what, well they can't even begin to imagine._

_She arrives maybe ten minutes after him, her hair pulled back, but still clearly wet from a shower (he tries with only moderate success not to think about her standing naked under a spraying faucet – something he's seen a time or two)._

_"What's going on?" she asks as she enters Ops, nodding to the others as she enters. She forces a smile, but Deeks can see just how fake it is._

_He also notices that she's avoiding his eyes._

_"Not sure yet," Callen admits. Then, with a smirk. "We interrupt something?"_

_"Not a thing," she replies, moving to stand behind the table, on the opposite side of the room from Deeks. This is strange because even before they'd started their partners with privileges thing, they'd always stood together. Shoulder to shoulder._

_Not now and it's damned obvious to everyone._

_"Everything okay, Kens?" Callen asks her. He looks over at Deeks as he asks this, notices the atypical rigid stance of the younger blonde man. There's something strange present in Deeks' turbulent blue eyes, almost anger perhaps. And where as Kensi won't look at her partner, Deeks doesn't seem to having that problem. His eyes are locked on her, like he's trying to stare right into her._

_"Fine." Then, seeing Hetty enter (dressed impeccably even though it's somewhat early on a Saturday morning), she follows up with, "What's the case?"_

_"A matter of national security, potentially," Hetty answers grimly, her hands folded behind her back. "Eric, you may begin."_

_The young tech punches his keyboard, bringing up a picture of a man in his forties on the screen. "This is Navy Captain Scott Harvey. Yesterday, he was at a little off the road beach with his wife and two children when they were attacked by three men dressed in all black – including ski masks."_

_Nell picks it up from here, her voice dropping as she says softly, "Each member of the family was beaten, and then executed. The only exception was the Captain, who was made to watch the individual tortures and then killed." She puts up the crime photos on the screen, and then looks up and meets the horrified expressions of the others with one of her own._

_After a moment, Callen says, "I'm guessing this isn't gang related?"_

_"That's what LAPD initially thought until they reviewed video found on a family camcorder found at the scene. It recorded the entire incident." Eric answers. The video comes up on the screen, and for the next five minutes, the team watches in silence as three masked men beat and then murder first a pretty brunette woman and two children while a struggling and bound man begs for their lives. The viewing angle is terrible, but they all get the horrifying gist of what's happening._

_"Okay," Deeks says, a slight tremor to his tone (he can feel Kensi's eyes on him now, but right now, he's not sure what he'll see when he looks at her – pity or understanding or something else - so he doesn't dare take the chance), "This is…this is awful, but what…what are we supposed to be seeing?"_

_"Watch," Nell says, her voice still so soft. It's clear that she's unsettled, troubled._

_And so they do. They watch as one of the masked men approaches Captain Harvey, places what appears to be a silver pistol against his chest and fires. Only they don't see an explosion of blood next. Rather, they see a spray of bright electricity and then Harvey seizing and screaming in pain._

_A man then leans into the Captain and says to him in an accent that sounds like the speaker is of some type of Latino heritage, "Tell me about Operation Nightcrawler, Captain."_

_"Go to hell," Harvey pants out as tears fall down his cheeks. A few seconds later, the pistol is pressed to his chest again, and another shockwave of electricity crashes through him causing the big soldier to scream and tremble._

_"I'll repeat my question now, Captain. Tell me about Operation Nightcrawler," the man says. So even, so patient, so very terribly cruel._

_It takes a third burst of electricity to get Harvey talking, but eventually, talk he does. What follows is a rambling and nearly hysterical description of an upcoming top-secret military operation in Afghanistan involving members of several elite Special Forces units going after Taliban soldiers who have been hiding out in one of the small mountain villages all while using civilians for cover._

_Once Harvey is done speaking, blood covering his lips, the pistol is fired once more. He seizes again, and then collapses to the sand, quite dead now._

_"What the hell?" Callen asks after a long moment of deafening silence._

_"What you just saw was an experimental interrogation device that the CIA was working on about a year ago called Veritas," Nell informs them._

_Eric picks it up here, explaining, "Simplified, it involves concentrated electrocution fired via a pulse directly into the nervous system."_

_"Like tasering?" Kensi asks._

_"Yes," Nell agrees. "But judging by the literature, and what we just saw, I'd say it's a whole lot more painful. And pretty much guaranteed to cause eventual death. Which is why Veritas was scrapped despite an almost one hundred percent success rate in interrogations."_

_Hetty steps forward to drop the emotional "other shoe". "Captain Harvey was a decorated and distinguished career officer with high-level security clearance. He was likely targeted because of these things," she tells the group. "Early this morning, we received word that seventeen members of our JSOC team were wounded or killed because Operation Nightcrawler was compromised."_

_"Damn," Sam growls._

_"So I'm guessing it's fairly safe to say that one of the Project Veritas test guns didn't get destroyed as it should have been, right?" Deeks asks, staring up at the screen, his eyes on the fallen form of Scott Harvey._

_"That appears to be the case, Mr. Deeks," Hetty answers grimly. She glances around the room, taking in the serious looks of her team. They're angry. Well, she figures, they should be. 17 young men and women had had their lives changed – or ended – thanks to the greed and cruelty of others. Best then to focus that anger, point it at a purpose. She addresses the group "Unfortunately, in regards to Operation Nightcrawler, what's done is done, but we may have a chance to recover the weapon if we play our cards right. This may have started as a CIA experiment, but as of right now, this is our case. Our mission."_

_"Absolutely," Sam nods._

_"So what's our play?" Kensi asks._

_"It seems that what you just saw was a carefully planned out demonstration of the abilities of the Veritas weapon. We intercepted communication about two hours ago about an auction occurring this morning. Using a few of our well-placed sources, we were able to Ryan Dylan into the buy."_

_Despite the monstrous seriousness of the situation, Kensi can't help but groan at that. And Callen – seeing her reaction - can't help but grin._

_"Seriously?" Kensi asks. "There's no one else?"_

_"I'm afraid not, Ms. Blye," Hetty answers with just the smallest hint of a smile. Ryan Dylan is the one with the best background for this mission. And because we've kept his identity running in the background for the last three years, there's no reason for anyone to find him suspect or to be suspicious about him attempting to buy the weapon or have the resources to do so."_

_"Anyone care to fill me in?" Deeks asks, his voice much sharper than usual. He's fairly used to these types of conversations – even after all this time working together. The others, well they have former identities and old stories shared between them, many that he's still learning. Right now, though, after the day he's had, he's in no mood to be feeling like the odd man out._

_"Ryan Dylan is to Callen what Max Gentry is to you," Sam offers._

_"So a real son of a bitch then?" Deeks asks without humor. There's a reason even the mention of Gentry rubs him badly. It's not just what Gentry did or the people he hurt, it's the fear that Max is more the real Marty than Deeks is._

_Days – moments - like this, when he can feel the anger and hurt running through his veins like bitter poison, those fears become even more poignant, even more defined. And the line between Deeks and Gentry becomes even more blurred._

_"Pretty much," Callen nods. "Ryan Dylan is a former NYPD street cop, who was let go after a slew of excessive violence complaints and a handful of suspicions about planting evidence. He then started up his own data security firm. He doesn't really care what kind of data or for whom. All he cares about is money. About three years ago, he started acting as a middleman in moving sensitive data to the highest bidder. We've managed to keep him going by planting a few success stories with the right people. Enough so where Dylan has a good reputation with the wrong type."_

_"And Kensi? What's her part in this?" He glances over at her, and for a moment, their eyes lock. They stare right at each other, each daring the other to react or turn away. The tension between them is noticeable, enough so that everyone else in the room exchanges a look of concern. Now isn't the time for this._

_Whatever this is._

_It's Kensi who finally re-focuses herself, turning away from him as she says with a loud sigh, "I'm his assistant, bodyguard, girlfriend, whatever. Kristen Harper."_

_With that, a picture comes up on the screen of Callen – dressed in an immaculate and expensive Armani black suit – walking into an upscale restaurant, Kensi on his arm. She's also dressed in expensive looking clothes. The only difference is that her outfit is also quite revealing, leaving very little to the imagination all while emphasizing her…assets._

_"Kristen Harper. Former Navy brat, dishonorably discharged for assault. Acts as Dylan's secret weapon, has a bit of a reputation for breaking bones," Eric notes._

_"My kind of woman," Deeks comments, his eyes drifting over and settling on hers once again. He doesn't miss the way she shifts uncomfortably, and for a brief moment, he gets a ridiculous thrill at that._

_"Yeah, well, you're not the one who has to wear six inch heels and a skirt that barely covers your ass," she shoots back, her eyes returning to her picture on the screen. She hopes that the others hadn't noticed her reaction to the way Deeks had looked at her (this time or the last), but she's pretty damned sure they had._

_They never miss anything._

_"Good thing," Deeks answers. "I'm terrible in heels." It should be a joke, but his tone is missing its' typical mirth. There's an unmistakable edge there._

_"Right," she says, then shakes her head and looks at Callen. "So we're going in, you and me?" She seems almost…happy about this, perhaps even thankful for the chance to work with Callen instead of Deeks._

_And to be honest, right now, she is._

_Right now, she needs distance from Deeks._

_Space._

_Time._

_To make the pain less. To make him see and understand that breaking up, well it's the right move for them. Because it is._

_It is._

_"Yes," Hetty says, answering for Callen. "The auction is in two hours. You'll be expected to be there at least fifteen minutes early to be searched and vetted. That gives us a half hour to go over the faces you should expect to see, get you dressed and get you there."_

_"Then let's get to it," Callen nods._

* * *

_Her mistake is deciding that she'd like to carry an extra weapon with her. Just to be safe. His mistake is deciding to take a walk just to clear his head while he waits with the others for Callen and Kensi to return from the dressing room._

_He makes his way to the gym (vaguely amused to find it empty – well it is Saturday, he reminds himself), and that's when he sees her, bent over her locker, fishing through it. The lockers here are smaller than the ones out in the bullpen, these ones meant to carry towels and workout clothes and shower gear._

_And apparently knives, he muses as he watches Kensi extract a switchblade from the locker, examine it and then slide it into a holster she's apparently wearing just beneath the entirely too short skirt that she's got on._

_As Kristen Harper, she's dressed sharply, like a well heeled but still lethal sex toy. Her shtick is that she'll distract you with her legs while she's shoving a knife into your back. In that respect, Kristen Harper and Kensi Blye are the same._

_Funny, he thinks, how often their aliases are more like the base personality than they'd ever like to admit._

_He knows he shouldn't say anything. He knows that considering all the things going through his head and his heart right now, he should just step away and back off and give everything time to calm down a bit. That's what he should do, yeah, but something flares inside of him. Hurt, anger, he's not really sure. And then his mouth opens and the Marty Deeks (Max Gentry) that only seems to show himself when there's the most to lose comes surging to the surface._

_"So Kristen Harper and Ryan Dylan are lovers, huh?"_

_She turns to face him, her expression for a moment surprised and then wary. After a moment, she simply shrugs her shoulders in response._

_"I take it that's a yes."_

_"She's his girlfriend," Kensi replies._

_"Right. So, uh, how far have Callen and Kensi gone as Kristen and Ryan?"_

_Anger flashes across her face. "Are you kidding me with this, Deeks?"_

_"No. Dead serious." He takes a step towards her. "You two get intense with each other? Cross a few lines? Have to have a talk? Maybe like the one we had this morning? You start it the same way you did with me? We need to talk?"_

_"Well if we had, I'm pretty sure he would have listened to me the first time I tried to tell him we had to end things. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have acted like a child and kept delaying it."_

_Her words strike against his ego hard, even though he knows she speaks the truth. He parries back with, "You let me."_

_"I tried…"_

_"No, not really, but hey, we'll go with your version of things." There's a cold kind of bitterness in his voice, something that unsettles her simply because she's never heard this from him before. Certainly not directed at her._

_"Deeks, stop. Please?"_

_"Why? Uncomfortable conversation? Too personal? I didn't think after seeing each other in our birthday suits that we had those walls anymore."_

_She just glares at him in response, but there's something else there as well. Maybe a little bit of hurt that he's going here. He knows damn well that she's been forced to do things in this job that she's not comfortable with. Whether that includes some kind of action with Callen, well that he doesn't know, but even asking her about that crosses some kind of line and he knows it._

_Problem is, right now, he's going just a little bit crazy. Right now, he doesn't care who he hurts. Or maybe he does care, and that's exactly the point. He shakes his head. "But I guess you just never really know the person you're sharing a bed with? Or maybe it's just me that never really knew you, huh, Kens?"_

_"Deeks…"_

_He's throwing her off, this he can tell. Truth be told, he throwing himself off a bit, too, because this isn't him. He doesn't act like this. He's not a mean-spirited jerk like this. This, the way he's behaving, this is definitely more Max than Deeks._

_And she doesn't like it one bit._

_He doesn't particularly like it, either, but he finds that he can't quite stop himself. Right now, Max is in full control. He's the one driving this car right towards the cliff and there doesn't seem to be a thing that Deeks can do to stop him._

_"So maybe you were thinking about Callen instead of me, that it?"_

_Her eyes widen at that. She can't believe that they're having this absurd…well it's not quite a conversation or a discussion. Either way, she can't believe that these words are coming from his mouth. "Stop," she whispers. "Just shut up."_

_He nods. "If you insist."_

_One moment, he's across the room from her, and the next he's right next to her, in her space, just an inch or so away. He hears the way her breath hitches, and it occurs to him that maybe, she's actually just a little bit afraid of him._

_That should be enough to stop him cold because he's never wanted anyone to ever be afraid of him. Certainly not the woman he loves. That was his dad's game, not his. And yet here he is right now, making his old man so very proud._

_The voice in his head telling him this, telling him that he doesn't want to be this man, screaming at him that he doesn't want to travel down this road, well it doesn't break through. Doesn't stop him from going even more insane by shoving her against the wall and then leaning in to kiss her as hard as he can._

_All these months that they've been doing this, they've never slipped up and crossed any lines at work. Never come close really._

_And yet here he is right now, pressing her against the wall of the gym, kissing her as forcefully (and honestly, as violently) as he can. He's not sure what he's trying to tell her, but he sure that it's something. He's trying to say something._

_Maybe he's trying to beg her to give him a second chance. Or maybe he's trying to tell her that he has no intention of allowing her to just walk away from him._

_She allows the super-heated kiss, even allows him deepen and intensify it. That is until – still channeling the ever-charming Max Gentry - he goes too far and does something even more utterly unlike him; he puts a hand on her upper leg, squeezes it hard enough to leave bruises, and then moves it up and beneath the hem of her skirt, his fingers drifting towards the inside of her thigh._

_With a grunt of anger and surprise, she violently pushes him away from her, causing him to stumble backwards and nearly fall over himself. "Dammit, Deeks," she growls. "What the hell?" Fury glints in her eyes, and he wonders for a moment if she's about to kick his ass. They've always joked about her ability to do exactly that, but he's never really been in danger of it._

_Until right now._

_Right now, she looks deadly. And pissed._

_Which he kind of understands as sense returns to him and the last few moments between them replay in his brain like some kind of terrible horror movie. "Kensi," he whispers, one hand drifting out towards her, imploringly._

_But now she's the one really angry, and she's not about to let him calm things down so they can talk things out calmly. "This is why we had to end it," she snaps at him. She turns her back on him, makes her way back over to the locker, slams it and then spins to face him again. "Because of this. This is what I didn't want to happen. This is why we should never have let it happen in the first place."_

_His shock fades back as the somewhat irrational and unfocused anger once again surges through him. "We didn't end this, Kensi. You did. And this? This right now is happening because you ended it not because it happened."_

_"It doesn't matter."_

_"It matters to me." Soft, barely audible. Eyes wide and sad. So very heartbroken._

_His words hit her hard enough to blunt the anger. She doesn't want to hurt him – that's the last thing she's ever wanted to do. What she feels for him…well she'd ended things specifically to stop either of them from getting hurt in the long run._

_"Deeks, please don't do this." She reaches for his arm. "I want us to be okay."_

_"And I want us."_

_"I know and…we can't."_

_"Because you're afraid."_

_"Because I know how this is going to end," she replies, exasperation and frustration peppering her tone and making it sound desperate. She doesn't have the mental energy to dance this boxstep another time. Not right now anyway._

_"With one of us dead."_

_"Yes," she confirms._

_"But that's not it, is it? It's not just about dying. You're afraid I might live and still leave you. You're afraid I might leave you like Jack did."_

_She flinches at that, and even through the haze of anger, he has the good sense to know that this time, he's gone more than a step too far – he's gone a mile or two beyond that. The hurt he sees burning in her dark mismatched eyes, well it's something he's never wanted to see, much less be the one to cause._

_And yet, he's absolutely the one who's caused it. There are unspoken rules in a relationship, lines you should never cross. Jack has always been the great unspoken elephant in the room. Not because he fears her feelings for him – too much time has passed and she's not the girl she was when she was with Jack._

_No, the elephant for them has always been the fear that Jack has created within her, the constant belief that she will always be left, and never be good enough for anyone to stay with. It's something she's never learned how to get past._

_So, of course, he'd decided to throw that little monster right into the middle of the fight. Utterly classless. And likely unforgivable._

_"Yeah," she says. And then she turns and walks away from him._

_"Kensi…Kensi…Kensi!"_

_She turns back and looks at him, wary and sad. "What? Something else you'd like to say? Maybe you'd like to tell tell me exactly why Jack left me?"_

_"No! I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't…I didn't mean…I'm sorry." He steps towards her, reaches for her, but she side-steps him easily, holds up her hand to him._

_"We're done, Deeks."_

_She might as well have jammed the knife she's carrying beneath her skirt through his heart. "What does that mean?" he asks._

_"It means we're done. We're just…done."_

_"As a couple or as partners?"_

_She shakes her head. "Right now…I don't know." She takes another step away from him, turns back once more and meeting his eyes, adds on softly, "And for what it's worth, no, Callen and I never crossed any lines. Unlike you, the only partner that I've ever crossed lines with is you."_

_"Kensi…please…come on, let's talk about this. Please."_

_"I think we're pretty much done talking, Deeks."_

_And with that said, she turns and leaves, her wonderfully long legs carrying her quickly out of the gym, only the sound of her high-heeled shoes as they click their way down the hallway echoing in his ears._

_He considers calling after her again, but figures he's done enough damage for one day. Instead, frustration (and anger, both at her and now himself) surging through him he turns and punches the wall as hard as he can._

_Not surprisingly, it hurts like hell._

_But then, this whole day has._

* * *

"That one there, Deeks," Eric directs. "Connect that one to that one."

"This one to…this one?" Deeks asks, clearly exasperated. He's bent down under a console in Operations, helping Eric and Nell as they try to forcibly coax power back into the Audio/Video equipment and thereby reboot the systems.

He doesn't really understand all of the technical aspects of what he's doing, but then he doesn't need to, either. He just needs to help them get their eyes and ears to open back up again so that they can find their missing teammates.

His missing lover.

That's all that matters to him now, no matter what she considers herself to him.

He's got to find her, make sure she's okay, and apologize. Whatever it takes.

"Yes, that one. There."

"Okay." With some degree of discomfort and pain thanks to his wounded hand, he reaches forward and reconnects the cables, and then – like music to his ears - he hears a buzzing sound as electricity pours through the room. A moment later, there's a bright light as the big screen flashes to life.

"It's working," Eric sighs in relief as Deeks stands up.

"Good news?" Sam asks as he and Hetty enter the room.

"It is," Nell confirms. "Ops is now functioning on emergency power. This should carry us through until we're able to get full power back. I'm bringing up audio and video feeds now." She bends back over a keyboard and starts typing again.

"Can you open a line to them?" Deeks asks, excitement peppering his voice.

"Doing so now," Eric answers. "And…it's open."

"G," Sam says, stepping towards the screen as it begins to show TV feeds as they come online. "G, it's Sam. Can you hear me?"

Silence. On the screen, they see images of pain and destruction.

Los Angeles in chaos.

Worried looks are exchanged between all of those in Ops as silence continues to boom like thunder across the room.

His voice trembling, his hands shaking in a way that pretty much tells everyone around him everything, Deeks says, "Kensi? Hey, you there, partner?"

There's another moment of silence, and then suddenly, the line crackles to life and they hear a voice come through.

Kensi's. Gasping. Pained. Hurt.

"Deeks, I know you can't hear me, but we need to talk."

**TBC…**


	3. Chapter 3

**N/A: Again, apologies for the delays in getting this to you. I expect that there will only be another two chapters and I anticipate much quicker delivery. Thanks for the kind words. I hope you continue to enjoy - even if the story does at time tends towards the melodramatic. As always, I ask for your faith and trust. All will be well.**

* * *

Each step NCIS Special Agent G Callen takes up the stairs (presumably leading back to the surface) feels like he's breaking apart. It's like he's been encased in liquid carbonite (perhaps watching the Star Wars marathon on Spike with Sam's children hadn't been such a good idea after all, he thinks to himself) and as he moves, the frozen solid parts of him are quite brutally snapping off.

He feels like he's coming apart at the seams.

And still he persists because even though he hurts like hell, even though his head feels like an entire third grade choir group is practicing inside of it, he knows that if he fails, then maybe neither of them will make it out of this hell.

So he focuses on her. He thinks about her injuries and the waxy paleness of her normally deeply olive colored skin. When these thoughts just serve to make his heart pound faster, and his panic grow, he tries to shift them.

He tries to think of how'd they come to this place.

They'd come to this side of town looking for a maniac selling a horrible weapon. In the process, they'd come across a man who'd they put away, and who'd seen his chance to settle a score. He'd revealed their true identities to the man – Jorge Cortez - they'd been after, which had led to Cortez running away from them.

And so like good little Federal Agents, they'd followed him.

They'd pursued him past the point when most would have given up – chasing him into a building that looked like it should have had the words "BEWARE – HORRIBLY PAINFUL CLICHÉ AHEAD". Yeah, they'd gone after their man and for that dedication to the job, they'd both paid dearly.

She's horribly injured, this he knows. Hanging on to her life by the slimmest of threads. For all he knows, she could already be dead, having succumbed to her numerous severe internal injuries

What he's just starting to realize is that he's in pretty bad shape himself.

The pain echoing through him is growing, his headache intensifying. Funny shapes and strange colors are swimming in front of his eyes every time he blinks and each step has gone from difficult to near impossible.

Like right now.

As he sluggishly moves to ascend another step, his legs suddenly jelly up and stumbles, and nearly falls, his hands reaching out to slow his descent, and suffering a few more ugly scrapes as a reward for their instinctive action.

He tries to stand again, but that only makes things – especially the swirling colors and shapes – that much worse. He orders himself to his feet, tries desperately to pull from the well of stubbornness that has kept going for all these years.

He tries to force himself forward.

But it's no use. He can't…he just…can't.

His body sags, and he nearly collapses. As it is, suddenly feeling completely drained, he drops against the cracked cement of the stairs. He thinks about how all warehouses seem so dark and desperate and how it seems like the good guys always tend to meet their ends in them.

He thinks about his past, the things he wonders if he'll ever know.

He thinks about Sam. He thinks about Kensi.

He thinks about failing.

He thinks about dying.

The last thing Callen thinks about before the shapes and colors overwhelm him completely is that he should have seen the hell that this day would become.

Should have seen it when he'd noticed how Kensi's partnership – and far more, Callen has long suspected - with Marty Deeks had seemed to have come apart.

* * *

_Deeks is not at all surprised that she's all business during the briefing, her jaw set almost rigidly hard (that he sees an occasional tic or two speaks more to his intimate knowledge of her as opposed to her broadcasting her emotions for everyone to see) and her mismatched eyes locked on the screen in front of her._

_Dressed in the all-too short skirt he'd seen her wearing down in the locker room and a flashy almost glittery top, which heavily accents her breasts (Kristen Harper is a ball-buster who dresses like a bar girl simply because she can – she does so daring men to try to make a move simply so she can rather sadistically break their hands), she's chosen to cover up with one of her oversized hoodies._

_Deeks has the good sense not to point out that it's actually one of his surf hoodies that she's wearing (it probably even smells like him, he figures). After what'd just gone down between them in gym, he's fairly certain that she wouldn't be at all receptive to him pointing that out. In fact, considering how clearly (at least to him) pissed she still is, saying something would likely result in her ripping the sweatshirt apart at the seams just to make a point._

_"That's all of them?" Callen asks after Eric and Nell have walked the group through a dozen faces that they can expect to see at the auction._

_"Probably not all, but the ones that are most likely to be there," Eric answers._

_"Who do we think our seller is?" Kensi queries, crossing her arms over her chest, showing a small bit of discomfort. She rarely says it aloud, but Deeks knows for a fact that she hates dressing like this._

_Kensi isn't one bit adverse to dressing sexy and having some fun (despite his normal teasing of her to the opposite), but looking like this, well this is the kind of person that she'd never be. She's the kind of woman who believes that showing less is worth a whole lot more, and to his way of thinking, she's absolutely right._

_Sometimes, it's about what you don't see. Sometimes it's about what you want to see, and Kensi gets that perfectly._

_"No way to know for sure," Nell replies, "But we have three lead suspects. Warren, Cortez and LePorter."_

_"Mm. I know Warren. He is way too nervous to be the big man because this kind of meet. LePorter is a sociopath and would totally try this, but no one really trusts him enough to buy from him. Everyone knows he'd screw them over without a second thought. My money is on Cortez being our guy," Callen says, gesturing towards the screen._

_"Columbian national so his voice likely fits what we heard on the video," Kensi points out, eyes narrowed as she studies Cortez's rather long criminal record. The entries range from "small" things like domestic violence arrests to much bigger national security related issues. He's wanted for several counts of weapon trafficking in multiple countries._

_"Right," Callen agrees with a quick nod of agreement. "And he has a history of weapon sales involving stolen military and CIA tech."_

_"Ever met him Cortez as Dylan?" Deeks asks._

_"Not in person, no, but Dylan has dealt with him a few times from a distance. About a year ago, we passed on some info to him so that he could avoid a FBI sweep of suspected weapon traffickers. We stopped his operation a different way, but he got away. Just the same, he believes Dylan did him a favor."_

_"I agree, Mr. Callen; Jorge Cortez is our most likely suspect here," Hetty nods. "And if he's our guy, you'll need to be on your toes. Especially you, Kensi. His reputation with women is…sordid to say the least. And with Ms. Harper's reputation being what it is, I'm sure he'd love a shot at taking down her down."_

_"Then maybe we should reconsider sending her in," Deeks says, almost before thinking. What he gets from Kensi is a brief, but undeniably icy glare._

_"It'd look pretty strange if Dylan showed up without her," Callen replies. "She's always at his side."_

_"Relax, Deeks, she'll be fine," Sam tells him. "Kensi has handled – and manhandled - much worse scumbags than Jorge Cortez."_

_"Besides, the set-up of this the sale really shouldn't afford Cortez and Kensi too much alone time. Cortez wants to make a lot of money on this deal, chances are he's not going to allow himself to get too distracted."_

_"Agreed," Hetty replies. "But stay on your guard just to be safe."_

_"Always do," Kensi answers, her tone flat and unemotional. "So if everyone is done worrying about me for no reason, how about we get to work then, huh?"_

_She unzips the hoodie, tosses it on the table and exits Ops, her long legs carrying her rather quickly down the steps and away from the others._

_Almost immediately, the rest of the group turns to face Deeks. "Something going on with you two that you want to tell us about, Deeks?" Callen asks with a frown, his blue eyes intense and concerned._

_"Yeah, what'd you do this time, Deeks?" Sam pushes, but he's smiling slightly (an interesting counter to Callen, the detective muses) simply because he believes that this is mostly likely just one of their things. The kind that is usually all about them annoying each other. Nothing big. Nothing more._

_How very wrong he is._

_Deeks sighs. Normally, he'd throw back something like "what makes you think I did it" or he'd remind them how difficult a partner Kensi is._

_Right now isn't normally._

_And today has really sucked._

_"It's complicated," he answers shortly, realizing a moment too late that this kind of answer will only serve to worry everyone that there might be a serious issue._

_Well, there is._

_"Complicated how?" Callen presses, eyes narrowing._

_"Just…complicated," he answers, and then, without offering more, he moves away from them, practically racing after his partner who is headed towards the car pool on the backside of the Mission._

_He waits until they're pretty much out of earshot of the others (because with as pissed as she already is, he's pretty sure that she wouldn't be one bit happy about him accidentally outing their relationship to the others) before he yells out for her. "Kensi," he calls out. "Wait. Please? Just…wait."_

_She turns to face him, and for the briefest of moments, she can't hide what she's feeling. He sees it all there – the conflict, the hurt, the pain and the anger._

_"What do you want, Deeks?" she asks, her voice so weary. It takes everything he has not to stop towards her and pull her into his arms. Hold her as tight as he can, and promise her that they'll find a way to work through this. Even if it means that they're over. Even if it means that all of they have left is the job._

_He doesn't for three reasons. One – they're at work. Two – they're technically broken up. Three – and most importantly, he's pretty sure if he tried that move right now, she wouldn't be at all receptive to it._

_Understandably so, he figures._

_"You know what I want, Kensi."_

_"I don't want to do this again," she tells him._

_"I know. And I'm sorry. I promise…if your mind is made up…"_

_"It is."_

_"Then I'll accept that. As far as our thing. But not our partnership."_

_"You really think we can have a partnership after all of this. After what just happened in the locker room?"_

_"Yes. I know we can."_

_"I don't. Deeks…you hurt me there. And you did it on purpose. That's the worst part."_

_"I know, and I'm sorry," he says to her. "I'm sorry. I lost my mind. You mean everything to me, and I lost it. But Kens, you know I'm not that man. You know I'm not him. You know that, right?"_

_He's looking at her with so much hurt in his eyes. She wants to be angry – is still angry – but what she sees tears at her. Beneath all of the fear and pain and loss, she loves this man. The depth of that love, she's not quite sure about, but she knows that what she feels is strong. Strong enough to have made her retreat._

_Strong enough to have hurt him enough to hurt her._

_Because no, she knows that he isn't this man. He's not his father and he's not Max. She knows these things._

_That doesn't mean that she's forgotten what had just occurred. It doesn't mean that she's ready to forgive his words._

_"I know," she finally answers._

_He allows for a caught breath of relief to escape from between his teeth. He nods his gratitude for her words, feeling the prickle of tears in his eyes for just a moment. "Can we can past this?"_

_"Maybe," she allows. "I don't know. Maybe we can talk about it when I get back, okay?"_

_"Sure, just as long as you promise me that we will talk about it," he answers, vaguely aware of the irony of him wanting to be the one to have a discussion about the nature and health of their thing/relationship._

_"Deeks…" It's a commitment, and right now, even this is too much for her._

_"Please." He steps towards her and touches her, and that's a big mistake right now because his fingers settling on her wrist, well it sends a shock through her because dammit if she doesn't really enjoy the feel of him…_

_And dammit if it wouldn't be just so easy to fall back into him._

_"Am I interrupting?" Callen says as he enters, and they both have the feeling that he's been there – and watching - for longer than they're supposed to know._

_Kensi doesn't give Deeks the chance to respond first. Instead, pulling away from her partner abruptly and putting several feet between them, she shakes her head and rather emphatically (too emphatically, to be honest) says, "No. Not at all."_

_"Okay. Then you ready to get going, Ms. Harper?"_

_She smiles at that, and in that moment, Deeks knows that for now at least, he's lost her. She's retreating into the Kristin Harper role, finding solace there._

_He knows the feeling, has done it with Max a time or two. He also knows that at the end of the day, when this case is over and she sits down to take Kristen's skin off, she's going to feel just a little bit dirty and a whole lot alone._

_He hopes she'll let him be there for her then._

_He hopes that even if they are really over that she'll let him apologize for his idiotic words. He hopes she'll let them be what they were._

_He has no idea what he'll do if she doesn't._

_"Good luck," he finally manages, meeting her eyes, and praying that she's seeing and understanding all of the other things that he's trying to say to her. For a terribly long moment, she doesn't respond at all, and then as if she doesn't quite trust herself to do anything else, she simply nods in response._

_"Let's go," she says to Callen, then steps away and heads towards the bright red Ferrari that has been relicensed to belong to Ryan Dylan._

_"Take care of the shop, Deeks," Callen tells him as he starts after Kensi. It's meant to be a parting flip comment, nothing big, but he can tell immediately that Deeks isn't in the mood for it. "Deeks? Something wrong?"_

_"No, but…just take care of her, okay?" Deeks asks, and he wishes he could say he was joking around. Right now, humor seems to be failing him and only one thing matters to him – getting Kensi back home safe so they can work this out._

_As lovers or partners, right now, he hardly cares._

_"I know we all believe she can handle anything because she's Kensi and no one in the world is like Kensi, but guys like Cortez, as badass as she is…"_

_"Don't worry, Deeks, everything is going to be just fine. I'll be by her side the whole time. Not that she needs me there."_

_"It's where I should be," he says softly._

_"Seems to me you two could use a little bit of time apart."_

_"Yeah, I guess so."_

_"Get your head on straight, Deeks. Focus on the job for now. Whatever is going on between you two, there will be time to deal with it later."_

_"I hope you're right."_

_Callen thinks about this for a moment, and then says, "I won't ever say I'm an expert in women, but I do understand partnerships a little. And I think maybe they're a whole lot like what relationships are like…even when they're both."_

_"Both?"_

_Callen waves that off. "My point is, Deeks, sometimes everyone needs a little space, and sometimes everyone needs a little air. Just…breathe."_

_"Right. Breathe."_

_"Breathe. Kensi is a smart woman. She might have some fears thanks to her past, but when it's all said and done, she'll make the right choice. Whatever that is. You just have to have a little faith in her."_

_"I have more faith in her than you know."_

_"I believe that. Now remember, breathe." Callen makes a motion with his hands as if to suggest inhaling and exhaling, and then he turns and heads over towards the Ferrari where Kensi is waiting quite impatiently for him._

_That she's impatient and annoyed with him doesn't surprise him._

_What does surprise him is that she doesn't ask about his conversation with Deeks. Instead, she simply says, "Let's get this over with."_

* * *

_She knows that he knows that that he'd overheard at least part of her conversation with Deeks, knows that he'd seen her reaction to Deeks touching her, and yet as they drive, she stays absolutely silent, ignoring his curious looks._

_She pretends she doesn't notice._

_When he finally asks if she's okay, she answers as she always does, with a quite curt, almost cursory, "Fine."_

_"So what did I come in on?" he queries, then chuckles and adds, "What did Deeks do now? Use you as his wingman again?" It's a lame completely transparent joke and they both know it. It's like he's fishing for information but without a pole. It's like he's using his hands because he's not one hundred percent sure that he actually wants to catch this fish._

_Probably because he knows that if he does catch the proverbial fish that he'll either have to kill it or throw it back and pretend like he never saw it. There's no taking this fish home and little it live happy and peaceful in a big old tank._

_Right?_

_He chuckles at all of this, musing at the way his mind creates the most ridiculous of hypotheticals. He blames Sam for this. They talk in circles sometimes, asking and telling each other things without trying to admit weakness. But the other one always know. Always. It's the nature of their partnership._

_He wonders what the nature of Kensi and Deeks' partnership is. Actually, he doesn't wonder at all. He knows what's going on between them – had pretty much seen it with his own two eyes._

_He just wonders if what they have is a good or a bad thing._

_"Not exactly," she answers, then reaches down and nervously smoothes her skirt down over her knee. It's an abnormally anxious gesture for her, one that inadvertently gives him tremendous insight into her current emotional situation._

_"Kens…"_

_"It's fine, G," she insists. "Let's just focus on Ryan and Kristen, okay? Please."_

_"Sure. But…you know I am here, right?"_

_"This isn't our thing," she tells him._

_"Just because talking isn't our thing doesn't mean I'm not here for you if you need me to be, okay?" he replies._

_"Thanks, G."_

_"Anytime. Now put your game face on. We're here."_

* * *

_"Do we have video?" Deeks asks as he enters Ops. He's soaked in sweat, wearing a black and blue sleeveless Under Armour shirt. He'd needed to work the bag for a few minutes, get some tension out._

_Breathe a little._

_Now it's time to get back into the game. Get his head on straight for his partner._

_Because she is still that._

_And he has no intention of allowing that to change._

_"We do," Eric nods. He gestures towards an image of a warehouse. It's clear that the camera – likely embedded in the button of Callen's shirt – is moving closer and closer to the building, as if Callen is walking. Which considering how the camera keeps shifting down to show his boots moving, seems to be the case._

_"Audio up now," Nell says. "Callen, Kensi, can you hear us?"_

_Callen coughs in response. A moment later, he coughs a second time._

_"Copy that," Nell answers. Then to the others she says," We have confirmation from both of them that they are receiving and transmitting."_

_"Excellent," Hetty says._

_They watch as the camera approaches the door of the warehouse, where a large man with an even bigger gun is standing guard. The folks inside this building aren't trying to hide that something very big and bad is going down inside._

_"G, we're killing the video so that you can clear their security. Let us know when we can bring you back up," Eric tells him. Another cough from Callen lets him know that his instructions have been received and confirmed._

_A moment later, the screen goes dark._

_"We still have audio, right?" Deeks asks._

_Before Eric can answer, they hear Callen say in a cocky kind of tone, "Name is Ryan Dylan. I'm on the list."_

_A gruff voice replies, "Yeah, here you are, Mr. Dylan." There's a brief pause and then, "What about your piece of ass there? She on the list?"_

_"I wouldn't call her that if I were you," Callen chuckles. "But yeah, this is Kristen Harper and she is on the list, too. Now if I were you, I'd show the lady some respect unless you actually want her to rip your balls off through your mouth."_

_The men in Ops exchange an uneasy look at even the suggestion of this._

_Then they hear Kensi chirp in an entirely too cheerful voice, "Nice to meet you."_

_"Sure, lady. If you'll put out your arms and stand still a moment," the watchman says. They hear the sound of some kind of electrical wand – likely a metal detector of some kind – being waved around. It makes several loud chirping noises as it passes over Kensi's body._

_"Problem?" they hear Kensi ask._

_"Detector is showing metal on you."_

_"Metal bra clasp, love. But I wouldn't imagine you know much about bras, do you know, big boy? Probably haven't taken off too many of them, hm?"_

_When the watchman answers her, his voice is tight and irritated, he's clearly not enjoying being spoken to like this. "I need to do a hand search of you, Ms. Harper, you know, just to make sure you're not carrying any weapons."_

_"Is that really necessary?" Callen queries, but he sounds vaguely amused._

_"Oh don't worry, baby. It's okay. Search away," she answers, her voice still abnormally chipper. "But I think I should warn you that if you touch anything you're not allowed to, it'll be the last time you use that hand for anything."_

_"This woman is nuts," Deeks chuckles._

_"You have no idea," Sam responds._

_"Oh, I think I do," Deeks replies as he glances back up at the blank screen._

* * *

_The watchman is a big burly man named Leo Vanden. He's wanted for just about every kind of violence that you can imagine. Not quite smart enough to have stayed away from the authorities on his own, it's clear that Cortez – or whoever is in charge of this Veritas auction – sees him as an asset._

_Sometimes even the most degenerate of muscle is still muscle._

_Callen watches with a bit of a smirk – Ryan Dylan is a jerk who doesn't necessarily mind watching his woman squirm a bit - as Vanden slides his hands up and down Kensi's frame. He sees the way she tenses at the touch, can practically hear her jaw grinding. Vanden is pushing the limits of what he can get away with, sliding his hands inwards and over her breasts and then hastily moving them away (when he sees the almost violently cold glare she throws his way) towards her barely clad thighs. That's when he goes a step too far._

_A hand on each thigh, he dips his palms inwards, under the fabric of her skirt, and starts to slide them upwards. His progress is stopped by one of her hands reaching out, grabbing his wrist, and turning it ever so slightly._

_"Now, come on, do you really think I'm storing a gun up inside me," Kensi says rather crassly. "I know you're an idiot, but use your little brain, huh?"_

_"You never know," Vanden answers, then catching a cold now rather displeased – because Kristen still belongs to him - glare from Callen and realizing that he's hit the limits of what he can get away with without losing a vital body part, steps back and away. "You're clear, Ms. Harper. Apologies for the…invasion."_

_Kensi smiles back at his in response, a somewhat cruel thing. Certainly not a Kensi kind of smile. There's no warmth in it, just a kind of a warning._

_In all of this, it's not lost on Callen that thanks to Kensi putting a bit of fear into him, Vanden hadn't managed to explore the front of Kensi's chest. Specifically, he hadn't been given time to locate the weapon – not her normal gun, but a smaller more portable .22 - that she'd placed into a holster within her bra._

_"Your turn, Mr. Dylan. And I know you're packing."_

_Callen nods at that. He reaches into the back of his pants and pulls out his Sig. He holds it up, pulls the clip out and then hands it to Vanden._

_The plan has always been that if things go bad, Kensi will get him a weapon by taking someone else down. It's incredibly risky for sure, but really, there's no way that he could have snuck a gun inside._

_Vanden hands the gun to another watchman nearby, then waves the wand over him. A moment later, he nods. "You're clear. Go on in."_

_"Thank you. My love?" He holds out an arm to Kensi. She rather lazily loops it around his, then smiles once more at Vanden._

_"Be seeing you later, Big Boy," she tells him, then allows Callen to lead them inside the building._

_Once inside the door, Kensi clears her throat, and then Callen coughs._

* * *

_Once the sounds echo through the Ops center Eric spins back towards his desk. "Bringing video online now."_

_He punches a few keys on his keyboard, and then the screen illuminates, showing Callen and Kensi entering a half-filled room full of chairs. A darkened projector screen is at the front of the room._

_"Ah, Mr. Dylan, Ms. Harper," a man says as he approaches. He's tall and darkly handsome, dressed in a ten thousand dollar suit. He also has an accent. "I'm so very glad that you two were able to make it."_

_"Jorge Cortez," Nell says. "He knows of the two of them through pictures and email correspondence only."_

_Callen extends his hand. "Jorge, I presume?"_

_"Indeed. It's taken us too long to meet, Ryan," Cortez answers, taking his hand and squeezing it tight._

_"Yes, it has. I expect no introductions to my lovely lady are needed."_

_"No, but they are appreciated just the same. Your reputation precedes you, Ms. Harper." He's turning on the charm, but it feels fake, like a show._

_"As does yours, Jorge," she answers smoothly, offering him her hand and allowing him to kiss it._

_"They're playing with each other," Sam notes. "Cortez doesn't like her one bit."_

_"She's a strong woman," Hetty notes. "Cortez gravitates towards the type, and then destroys them. Kensi is sending him the message that he shouldn't even bother trying to do that with her."_

_Just as she finishes saying this, the video on the screen turns to static and the image badly distorts. A moment later, it clears._

_"What was that?" Deeks asks._

_"No idea," Eric answers. "Maybe an electro…" he stops halfway seeing blank looks from everyone but Nell. "Some kind of glitch. I'll run a diagnostic."_

_"Wait on that, Eric," Sam suggests. "It seems we're back up now. We don't want to lose our eyes and ears there."_

_"Copy that."_

* * *

_The auction is slated to begin about a half hour later. Until then, it's all about seeing who's in attendance at this little get together of the world's biggest sociopathic entrepreneurs. The names they've seen thus far are enough to make just about every single one of the ABC agencies start salivating with desire and anticipation._

_Once Cortez floats away from them (he's quite the meet and greet kind of guy apparently), ensuring that before he leaves, he trails a hand down Kensi's back, allowing his palm to settle on her backside for a moment or two, the two agents make their way over to their seats._

_While it'd be interesting to try to strike up a few conversations here, it'd also make people suspicious. Just about everyone in this room is wanted by the Feds for something or other, which means everyone is just a little bit paranoid._

_Everyone but Cortez._

_Sometimes, being a complete narcissist lunatic has its perks._

_It's an amusing visual, Callen imagines, he and Kensi sitting in fold-up chairs next to each other. They're both dressed so well, but they could be anyone, any couple. He's leaning back in his chair and she's bent forward, looking down at her phone with feigned boredom. This whole thing lacks interest for Kristen Harper. She'd rather be doing something physical be it sexual or athletic._

_He's actually fairly glad that this particular gig doesn't have them having to do anything like that. Especially considering whatever is going on with her and Deeks right now. Not that he believes she wouldn't be professional and do whatever needed to be done – he knows she would. But sometimes, some parts of this job have a way of making the personal life issues blow up badly._

_And he kind of suspects that Deeks being forced to watch Callen and Kensi kissing as Ryan and Kristen isn't something that he'd be too fond of._

_"All right, we're just about ready to begin," Cortez calls out. "We have a few more friends joining us and then I will show you the demonstration I set up just for you. I assure you, you will all be quite pleased with our product this afternoon."_

_He steps away after that, back towards the other._

_Quite suddenly, Kensi stands up. To Callen she says, "I need a smoke."_

_"Want me to join you?" he wiggles his eyebrows when he says this, suggesting something else entirely._

_She laughs. "No, lover boy. Just a smoke this time, I'll be right back."_

* * *

_"She's scouting," Sam announces unnecessarily, watching as Kensi saunters away from Callen. Callen watches after her a moment, his camera showing the sway of her hips as she moves through the crowd of mostly men, settling a hand on one or two of them as she goes._

_"But she's about to be off our camera," Deeks comments, worry evident in his tone. He doesn't like this one bit._

_To that, he hears, "Relax, Deeks, all is good," come from a Kensi in a somewhat amused whisper. It's actually a warming tone for him – a gentle teasing._

_Their usual kind._

_"Just be careful."_

_"I will."_

_"She's fine, Deeks," Sam insists. "Focus on…"_

_"Oh no, guys, we've got a problem," Eric says suddenly._

_Both men snap around, but it's Hetty who speaks first. "What is it, Mr. Beale?"_

_"Stanley King."_

_It takes Deeks a moment, but then he says, "The art dealer guy that hit Kensi?"_

_"And murdered several people," Nell reminds him with a slight smirk._

_"Yeah, that. What about him?"_

_"He's here," Kensi answers for them, her voice very low and almost inaudible._

_And true enough, on the screen, somewhere a few feet ahead of Callen and slightly off to the side, they see Stan King. His hair is cut a bit shorter than it was previously and he's clean shaven, but otherwise, he looks exactly the same._

_And free._

_Which he shouldn't be._

_"How is this possible, Mr. Beale?" Hetty asks. "He should be in prison for life."_

_"He is," Eric confirms. He taps something on his keyboard. "Only the man in prison named Stan King – prisoner 05692 - sure doesn't look like the one we put there." A picture comes up on the screen of a man roughly matching King's image, but it's definitely not him._

_"He got someone to swap with him," Sam notes._

_"Why would someone do that," Deeks queries. "It's three life sentences back to back. Where's the upside?"_

_"That's a very good question, Mr. Deeks. Unfortunately, it's one I don't think we have time to answer at the moment," Hetty nods. "Ms. Blye, Mr. Callen, I think it's safe to say that you are both about to get made. Get your eyes on Mr. Cortez. We want King back behind bars, but Cortez and Veritas are the goals."_

_Both agents cough at the same time._

_A moment later, they hear Kensi say, "Time's up, guys. King is looking right at me. He's about to out me."_

* * *

_There's no feeling quite like getting made. It makes everything suddenly slow way down. Add to that the fact that the person making you is someone who would really like to see you dead because you made a fool of him, and well, things tend to get mighty intense in a hurry._

_That's definitely the case here._

_King sees Kensi from across the room, and for a moment, his eyes seem to bug out, and then just like that, he understands what's happening._

_He gets it._

_And he smiles._

_Because he knows that things are about to get very dangerous for her and her partner. All thanks to him._

_She's only moderately surprised when he starts walking towards her, his smile growing with each step. A moment later, he's right next to her._

_"Agent Kensi Blye," he says. "Getting to see you a lot sooner than I figured."_

_"How's that?" she asks, looking over towards Callen. He's on-edge, ready to come to her aide if need be, but his eyes are still scanning the room, trying to find Cortez so that when things go down – and they're about to – he can make his way over to him and take him down before he moves Veritas._

_"I always planned to find you. We have so much to talk about."_

_"Yeah, we do. Like how you went from being a thief to trafficker in weapons."_

_"We all have to have ambition, sweetheart." He glances down her, allowing his eyes to sweep over her body. Last time they'd met, she'd been in overalls. This time, she's leaving very little to the imagination. "Damn, I'm starting to think I should have taken you up on your offer."_

_Her eyes slide over to him. "Maybe it's still on the table," she answers suddenly, a small smile curving his lips._

_He lifts his eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Is it now?"_

_"Maybe we should step outside and find out," she suggests._

* * *

_"What the hell is she doing?" Deeks demands. The image on the screen is of what Callen is seeing (which is moving around as he's trying to locate Cortez), but all Deeks is focusing on is the conversation between King and Kensi._

_"She's trying to buy Callen time," Sam answers. He knows that Deeks already knows this, but he also understands why the detective is worried. What Kensi is trying right here – well it's the kind of gamble you hope fails because if she's successful and she manages to get King to step outside with her, she might have to do something she really doesn't want to do just to keep Callen's cover in place. And the most horrible part of all is, King probably realizes that as well._

_"This is a bad idea," Deeks says. "Kensi, abort. Get back to Callen and get the hell out of there."_

_"That's not an immediate option, Mr. Deeks," Hetty says. "If they try to leave, it'll look suspicious. Their only chance is to get Mr. King out of the picture before he blows their covers. I hate to say it, but what Kensi is attempting to do right now is exactly…the right move at the moment."_

_Deeks ignores them, tries to speak to Kensi again. "Kensi…"_

_She speaks over his protests then, speaking to King. "I can make your silence worth your while."_

_"What makes you thing I want you more than I want to kill you?"_

_"Nothing," Kensi answers. "But maybe if you're lucky, you'll get both."_

_"This is insane," Deeks insists. "Hetty, come on, you're not going to let her do this, right? Callen?"_

_They see the camera swing towards where Kensi and King are. She's got a hand on his arm, but the expression on her face is anything but sexual. She's tense and focused, trying to convince him to step outside with her (she hasn't quite figured the next part out just yet – she has no intention of having any kind of sexual contact with King, but she needs him to think otherwise) because in her head, it's her only play._

_"Callen," Deeks says again._

* * *

_This is a nightmare._

_He can see what's happening, can tell what Kensi is trying to do. Her efforts are abnormally clumsy and unsophisticated for her (she's never been the best at impromptu) and if anyone was actually paying attention to her – interestingly enough, most of the men in here are far too focused on the buy ahead, and are barely noticing what's going down between King and Kensi – they'd see how terrible of a seduction attempt it really is._

_That doesn't mean that King isn't seriously considering her offer._

_Mostly because he has to know how horribly humiliating it would be for her to give herself to up to him like this._

_Right now, Callen doesn't know what he's praying for. If King takes her up on her offer and steps outside, there's a chance that as Ryan Dylan, he could actually buy Veritas. Or at least get close enough to be able to arrest Cortez for having it._

_On the other hand, right now he'd almost prefer King to scream Fed so that he could tackle the dude to his left, steal his gun and start shooting people._

_Starting with King. Assuming Kensi didn't shoot him first._

_He hears Deeks say his name again, just about begging him to stop this. What makes him get to his feet, though, what makes him walk towards Kensi and King isn't what Deeks says, but what King does._

_From across the room, Callen watches as King places a hand on Kensi's thigh, slides his palm up beneath her skirt and grabs her ass. It's an incredibly assaulting action and she pulls back away from him, but King uses his other hand – which is now on her hip – to hold her in place. He then leans in, presses his mouth against her ear and whispers something to her – something that clearly either infuriates her or shocks her. Maybe both._

_This is too much. The look on her face, it's a bit of fear. Anger for sure, but fear, too. And Kensi Blye is afraid of no one._

_It's one of the things Callen loves about her._

_"On it," Callen whispers._

_He takes two steps, and then his eyes lock with King._

_King grins, spins Kensi around, arm around her throat – again, Callen realizes – and yells out, "She's a cop!"_

_The gunfire starts about two minutes later._

* * *

At this point, with fever and infection raging through her, there's no doubt left in her; this is the end.

And if it is, there are things to say. So many things to say.

She starts with the words he hates, "We need to talk."

What she doesn't expect is to hear his voice reply to her, high and panicked. "Kensi," he says. "Kensi, are you there?" After a beat where she's struggling for both air and words, he says again, "Kensi, talk to me, please?"

"Shut up, Deeks," she says, and for the first time since this whole nightmare had begun, she allows for a brief genuine smile.

"There's my girl. Kensi, where are you?"

"In a warehouse somewhere," she answers between violent coughs.

"Do you know where? Are you far from where the buy was happening?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think so, but it doesn't matter."

"It matters, Kens. We're going to find you. Everything is going to be just fine."

"Not this time. I'm hurt, Deeks. I'm hurt bad. Callen went for help, but I think he's hurt, too. I don't know if he'll make it."

"Ms. Blye, it's Hetty. Can you tell me where you're injured?"

"We fell," she answers, wincing as she does so. "Through a floor. When the quake happened, the floor fell out from beneath us. Inside of me, I think it's all broken." There's a sharp pained laugh there, and then she adds, "More than it already was anyway. I'm so sorry, Deeks. I'm so sorry."

* * *

Marty Deeks feels a bit like someone has just reached into his chest, grabbed his heart and ripped it out of him. Her words, well they sound like goodbye to him.

And that can't be. She can't be saying goodbye.

Because he can't lose her.

He looks over at Sam, who is wearing the same stricken expression he is – and wondering the same horrible thing he is (will I ever see my partner alive again) – and then answers with, "Kensi, no, nothing to be sorry for."

"Yeah there is," she answers. "I'm sorry for being a coward. I'm sorry for not giving us a chance. I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for this morning. I didn't want to break up with you. I just…I need you to know…I love you so much. I just didn't want to lose you."

So there it is then, their romantic relationship laid bare for everyone to see and judge. Funny how he could care less.

All he cares about is her.

"You can tell me all of this later, okay? We can talk about it once you're back here. Like we said we would."

"There's no more time…"

"Yes, there is. There is. Just hold on, okay? Please?" He looks over at Eric and Nell, who are both typing away on their keyboards as fast as they can, both doing whatever they can to trace her signal, find out exactly where she is.

"You think I'll see my dad?"

"No!" he replies quickly. "Not yet, Kens. He doesn't want to see you yet. You're supposed to be here. With us. With me."

"Got her," Eric says suddenly, pointing towards the screen.

"You hear that, Kensi?" Sam says. "We found you. And we are on our way to you. You just need to hold on. I'm bringing Deeks to you."

"I can't. I'm so tired." she answers, causing everyone in the room to feel as though their hearts have crashed to their feet. "I'm sorry," she continues, her voice so much lower now, like she's fading away. "Deeks, I need you to know. I need you to know what I…what I…"

And then there's just silence.

"Kensi?" Deeks asks, unable to hide the fear in his voice.

More silence.

"Kensi, talk to me, please?"

Nothing. Just more silence.

"Go," Hetty says to the men. "Bring them home. One way or the other."

TBC….


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Almost to the end now, just a little more (by that, I mean one more chapter) to go. As always, the science is a bit rough here, but the story is about the characters and the relationships, not the nuts and bolts of electricity. **

**Again, I very much thank you for all your kind words and your passionate responses and hope you continue to enjoy. I'd love to hear from you if you did.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine.**

* * *

It takes he and Sam all of three and a half minutes to get from the Ops center down to the parking lot. Neither man says a word to the other as they move quickly and purposefully towards the many rows of vehicles, some of them personal but most of them owned by the United States government. There's no need for words right now; they both know what the other agent (cop) is thinking.

They both know what the other one is fearing.

Deeks says aloud, "Eric, is the line to Kensi still open?"

"It is. I can't get one up for Callen, though. His might be broken."

"Keep trying to get them back," Sam orders, however unnecessarily. They both know that Eric and Nell will be doing exactly that the entire time.

"Copy that," Eric answers, the line crackling and distorting his voice a bit. Systems are back up, but they're not quite one hundred percent yet.

"Wait, Sam, maybe we should take one of the vans," Deeks says to Sam as the bigger man moves towards his Charger.

"In case we need to take them to the hospital ourselves," Sam finishes with a grim nod. "Right, good thinking."

"Lights on?"

"Yeah. I think the streets are pretty clear, but just in case." He slips behind the wheel of a large blue van, and fires up the ignition. He watches then as Deeks pops a set of red and blue emergency lights atop the van.

"Gun it," Deeks says then.

Sam nods again, then pulls the van out of the parking lot.

The only semi-good thing about the quake had been it's timing in regards to morning traffic. It had happened between rush hour and lunch, which had meant that the roads and highways had been relatively – for Los Angeles – clear. They remain very much that way now with the exception of several emergency vehicles, which are rushing up and down, sirens blaring.

Deeks reaches out and touches a button on the center console, and then speaks towards an amazingly strong microphone, which is imbedded into the rearview mirror. "Kensi, can you hear me, partner?" He waits a brief moment for a reply, and then, his voice nearly trembling, he continues, "If you can, I need you to hear this: we're on our way to you. We're coming for you. We're going to bring you both home, and you're going to be just fine, okay? We have a lot to talk about you and me, so you're going to be just fine. Everything is going to be fine."

When he again hears no response from his injured partner, but rather only the soft cackling of the open line, he looks over at Sam and shakes his head. "We have to go faster…."

"Going as fast as I can," Sam assures him.

"I know. But what if…"

"You can't think like that. We can't. We just gotta get to them, Deeks."

"Right," Deeks says quietly, looking up at the rearview mirror. The light on it is red, showing that the signal isn't transmitting an audio signal, which in his mind, is a good thing right now. If Kensi is still there, even somewhat conscious, he doesn't want her to hear his doubts. He doesn't want her to know how weak he's being in the moments where she needs him to be strong the most.

"Deeks?" Sam says as he glances over at the younger man. The detective's face is drawn and unnaturally serious (though, of course, understandably so). He's drumming his fingers against the fabric of his jeans, anxiously and without even realizing it sounding out the beat to an 80s rock song. "You holding up okay?"

"Seriously? No, Sam, I'm not holding up okay. My partner is out there…"

"So is mine…"

"And she might be dead. And I love that woman."

"I'm getting that."

"And you know what, I know what you're going to say. You're going to tell me it was stupid to get involved with my partner and I should know better."

"All true."

"And you're going to ask me what the hell I was thinking believing I could keep a woman like her, but you don't –"

"No, I wasn't."

"What?"

"Deeks, you drive me absolutely insane more often than not and there are times when I'd like to do nothing more than kick your ass just on the off chance that it might shut you up, but you are a good man, and a damned good partner for her."

"But?"

"No, buts, Deeks. If you make her happy, that's all I care about it."

"You wouldn't say that if you'd heard the things I said to her today."

"Probably not, but I'm guessing it wasn't a one-way street. Judging by what she said to you about being a 'coward', I'm guessing she is equally to blame."

"No…"

"Deeks, I love that girl like she's my little sister, but she's not perfect and pretending she is doesn't help either of you. Kensi is a lot of amazing things, but she's also stubborn and bull-headed and emotionally scarred and distant and way too closed off. Being in a relationship with her can't be easy."

"No, it's not because, yeah, she's all of those things, but I can't lose her, Sam. I can't," Deeks says, turning his head and looking out the window. He can feel moisture forming in his eyes as the panic rises up through him.

"Then focus on what we can control. Keep trying to talk to her. We have an open line to her. Keep trying to get her to respond."

"You're scared too, aren't you?"

It's a strange thing to say to a man who was once a Navy SEAL. Fear doesn't come easy to a man like Sam Hanna. More accurately, fear is something he consumes like one would caffeine – it drives him, pushes him, energizes him.

Not right now.

Because right now, he's wondering if he's lost a man who is every bit his best friend, every ounce his brother.

"Yeah, Deeks, I am," Sam says simply. "Now stop talking to me and talk to her. I can't believe I'm actually telling you to babble, but I am because she needs it right now. She needs to hear your voice. So you talk, I'll drive. We'll get to them."

Deeks nods his head. He reaches out, touches the button to activate the microphone, takes a breath, and then says, "All right, Sunshine, here's how it's going to go, all right? I'm going to keep talking and babbling as Sam puts it until you respond to me. I'm going to annoy you until you tell me to shut up, okay?"

* * *

She does hear him.

After a brief drop into unconsciousness, she'd re-emerged to his voice coming at her through the haze of pain and disorientation thanks to the slightly damaged earwig that is still stuck in her ear.

Now, she struggles to reply, but she quickly discover that nothing is working, not even her mouth. So for the moment, she simply listens to him. Because amazingly enough, his voice is like an anchor to her.

Right now, it's all that is her anchoring her to this world and this life.

It doesn't matter that he's essentially talking nonsense right now, saying pretty much nothing of substance or consequence. All that matters is that it's him.

There's a pause then, a sound like the deep inhaling of breath and then he speaks again, his voice so much lower now, "Kens, come on, baby, I need you to respond to me, okay? You hate when I call you baby, but I'm going to call you that until you tell me to knock it off. So come on, baby, tell me to knock it off."

In spite of everything she feels, in spite of all of the pain winding it's way through her like a treacherous snake, she manages the ghost of a smile. And then using every bit of energy she has left in her, she forces out the words, "Knock it off."

He laughs then and despite the face that it's a sound utterly without humor (she hears relief and sadness there and that breaks her heart terribly), it's music to her ears. How many times has his laughter pulled her away from the edge of darkness? How many times has Deeks being Deeks been salve for her soul?

"There's my girl, and yeah, I know you hate that, too, but too damned bad," he says. Then, growing serious again, "We're almost there, Kens. Almost there."

"No…no…no time," she manages.

"Yes, there is. You just gotta hold on for me, okay? You gotta hold on. We have too much to work out between us because you know what? I don't accept that we're over. I don't. You and me, we're good together. We're great together."

"I screwed up…"

"It doesn't matter. None of that matters. All that matters right now is that you keep talking to me. You keep telling me what a pain in the ass I am and…"

"I like that about you."

"What?" there's a note of panic in his tone, like maybe he's starting to really understand that what he's hearing. He'd thought that maybe she'd been saying goodbye before, but now, he's certain of it. The words she's saying to him, they're the kind of things people say when they realize that they might not have another chance, when they realize they'd rather not leave things unsaid.

"I'm stronger because of you," she whispers after a long moment.

"Good, good. Then be stronger now. Hold on for me. Be strong."

"I'm trying," she answers, her voice strained and weak, like speaking is starting to take a huge toll on her. He knows he should tell her to rest, but he's terrified that if he does, she'll allow herself to fade away.

No, he needs her struggling and fighting like hell. He needs her being Kensi.

"I know you are. I know, and you're the strongest woman I've ever met, Kens, so I know you can hold on for us. We're just about a mile away now."

She's about to reply, about to tell him that he needs to hurry because with each moment, she feels herself fading away more and more, but before she can speak, her eyes are drawn to a shadow entering the room.

Cortez, she figures. They'd followed him into the building, but had lost him when the shaking had begun. Maybe he'd managed to get to some degree of safety.

Maybe he'd managed to come away from this uninjured.

But as the figure steps towards her, a totally different cold reality hits her. She can hear Deeks speaking to her still, his voice coming at her over her earpiece, but her eyes are on the man walking towards her.

Stanley King.

He's bloody, and injured (a bullet wound on his arm leaking blood down his side thanks to Callen), but none of his wounds seem immediately life-threatening.

What's worse is, as he approaches her, she sees he has something in his hand – the Project Veritas pistol, she thinks to herself.

And he's grinning because he knows that she's completely at his mercy now.

He knows that he's about to get revenge on her for what she'd done to him – how she's duped him, embarrassed him, and then put him away in prison.

All of those things, he's about to pay her back for, and there's absolutely nothing she can do to stop him, and they both know it.

"Deeks," she breathes as King steps above her, his shadow looming over her.

"No more Deeks," King chuckles before leaning down over her. For a moment, she thinks that all he's going to do is touch her because when his palm gets to her face, he allows for an almost gentle caress (one that she tries – and fails – to pull away from), but after a moment of this, he brings his hand up to her ear and then forcibly pulls the earwig out. He looks at it a moment, brings it to his mouth and says, "Don't worry, Detective, I'll leave enough of her for you to bury."

And then he drops it and crushes it beneath his boot.

"I found Cortez," King tells her. "Hurt and wounded in the other room. He had his briefcase with him so I figured I'd take a look and what do you know? Check out what I found?" He waves the Veritas gun around. "Had to test it out. You know, I don't think Cortez went in a particularly nice way. Looked painful."

"I'm not afraid of you," she tells him as her eyelids start to droop. The fight is fading from her quickly, but even now, even with the shadows moving at her quickly, she refuses to simply submit to him. If she's going to die here today, it's going to be because of the injuries that she suffered thanks to the quake and the fall through the floor and not because of him.

She won't let him have that pleasure.

"Not yet," King agrees, his smile widening into a victorious grin that seems more than a little bit insane, like maybe he's completely lost his mind. "But give me a few seconds and I promise you, Agent Kensi Blye, you will because I've got a lot to pay you back for and enough electricity here to keep you alive for long enough to make sure I have a damned good time doing it." Then, as if to prove his point, he dry fires the weapon, sending a bolt of energy flaring up from its tip.

"King…" she whispers. She's not begging him, not exactly pleading. If anything, she's trying to make some kind of connection with him.

She's wasting her time.

He ignores her completely, his eyes on the gun instead. "It's funny," he says. "I was never much for torture. A year ago, I'd have just put a bullet between your eyes. Killed you quick, you know. Never cared for messes or hurting anyone. But for you, I think I'll make an exception. For you, I _want_ to make an exception."

And then he lowers the weapon down to her chest.

* * *

_The funny – or perhaps (probably) that's the wrong word entirely – thing about all of this is that when the gunfire starts a few minutes later, no one in the room is all that sure about whom they're shooting at – or should be shooting at. The biggest problem is, most of the bad guys gathered around are the paranoid super suspicious type, and so none of them are really quite sure whom to trust._

_Which basically equates down to trusting no one at all and trying like hell to kill anyone who might be a threat. Which is everyone, in the long run._

_One moment, there's nothing but the noisy chaos of a dozen conversations overlapping with each other and then the next, there's Stanly King holding a ragingly pissed off Kensi against him telling everyone that she's a cop._

_Callen freezes where he stands, eyes wide, but already looking around the room, searching for a weapon to grab at. His mind circles through his options – but none of them seem to be pointing the way to a non-violent way out of this. After all, when someone yells cop, it's a bit like hearing something incredibly damning and prejudicial in a courtroom. You can tell a jury to ignore it, but the old saying about how you can't un-ring a rung a bell? Yeah, pretty damned true._

_And when you're a cop – and sometimes when you're not – hearing someone scream that out, it's pretty much a "get the hell out of Dodge" kind of neon sign._

_Which is exactly what Marty Deeks (and Sam as well, if Callen is completely honest about it) is yelling at him to do. He briefly considers yanking out his earwig or telling the detective to shut the hell up. Ultimately, he does neither simply because he's pretty sure that if their places were reversed – if it were he and Kensi back at Ops monitoring Sam and Deeks in the field (he has a fleeting curious thought about which of those two men might be tasked with wearing Kensi's skirt and heels), well then they'd probably be reacting the same._

_So, instead, choosing to try to keep things cool for even a moment longer, Callen lifts his hands up. "Whoa," he says to King, though he's more speaking to Cortez who has suddenly appeared in the room, a metal briefcase in hand._

"_What the hell is going on?" Cortez demands. His eyes shoot around the room and settle on Kensi. He allows for a brief moment to admire her body, then notices the way she's being held by King. "Mr. King?"_

"_This woman is an NCIS agent," King smirks, yanking Kensi closer to him. She can smell his cologne and his sweat. He's nervous, but he's also excited. A dangerous combination for sure. She struggles against him (and his hands, which are getting entirely too friendly with her), trying to find an opening, a way to escape his grasp. Unfortunately, he's also pressing the end of a pistol into her side. Which means that there's pretty much no way to get away from him right now without taking a bullet to the mid-section as a going away present._

"_No," Callen insists. "No, we're not. Come on, Cortez, we've worked together."_

"_Via the internet, Ryan," Cortez reminds him_

"_They arrested me," King tells Cortez. "Trust me, they're Feds."_

"_I trust no one," Cortez chuckles. Then, to his bodyguard, "Kill all three of them."_

"_No!" King calls out, fear lighting in his eyes as he realizes that King isn't planning on letting him live through this little encounter. This isn't how it's supposed to go._

_This isn't how revenge usually works._

"_Good plan," Kensi grinds out, trying to ignore the same voice in her ear that Callen is hearing – that of Deeks. He can surely see what's happening in the room thanks to the camera in G's shirt. He sounds scared, she thinks._

_Yeah, well so is she, she realizes with a bit of surprise. Just a little anyway. _

"_Sorry King," Cortez tells him. "And you, too, Ryan. Assuming your name is Ryan. Can't take any chances. You understand, I'm sure." And then, after another nod at his bodyguard, and because it's pretty clear that this auction is over now, he turns his back on the room, as if to leave as quickly as possible, the metal briefcase he'd had at his side now clutched tight against his chest._

_Callen has no intention of allowing that to happen. Cortez is the target, and their job – the very reason he and Kensi are even here (she in an outfit that is currently providing the entire room – and likely Ops – with quite the view of her considerable assets) - is to bring him down. Which means getting out of this mess and then finding a way to arrest the son of a bitch. Okay, no problem._

_He meets Kensi's eyes and smiles at her. He then mouths the words "go limp."_

_And so, like the born operator she truly is, without even a moment of hesitation, Kensi does exactly that, allowing her body to suddenly and rather dramatically go completely boneless in King's arms. The moment she sags, her knees seeming to buckle and collapse beneath her, Callen lurches to his side, disarms the stunned man (Alexander Jovanich, Callen remembers from the security briefing. Jovanich might be slow in a gunfight, but he's a lunatic like everyone else in this room) standing next to him and fires a shot right at King._

_And that is when all hell truly breaks loose._

_At least the hell related to gunfire._

* * *

_It's a bit surreal to watch a gunfire fight on a big screen – especially a real one instead of a Hollywood one. There are no magnificent flips or astonishing shots. There's just a lot of yelling and the sound of rounds being popped off._

_The fact that Callen has dropped down to the ground to keep from being hit by stray crossfire is making things even harder to figure out for the team in Ops._

_Every now and again, they catch a shot of Kensi. She, too, is on the ground, crouched behind a chair, firing off shots. A few feet away from her – just out of arms reach – is King. He appears to be unconscious or dead. There's a small but growing bloodstain on the side of his shirt, but it's difficult to tell exactly where the wound is. Or how serious it is. _

"_Guys, do you have eyes on Cortez?" Kensi asks as she reloads her Sig and then fires off a few more shots. Deeks can tell that she's looking around the room, seeking out an exit, but trying to find Cortez as well._

"_Yeah, Kens," Nell replies. "Security camera from a nearby rooftop has him leaving the warehouse. He's on foot, currently in an alley about a block from where you are. And it looks like he has a briefcase with him."_

"_Yeah, I saw him leave with that," Callen notes. "Probably Project Veritas in it."_

"_Man has priorities," Sam says with a disgusted shake of his head. _

"_How close to a vehicle is he?" Callen queries as he just dodges taking two shots to the shoulder. His sudden movement causes the camera to swirl around frantically, causing everyone in Ops a moment of vertigo._

"_At a walk, about two minutes at most. At a trot, half that," Eric answers._

"_He's trying to play cool and not draw too much attention to himself," Deeks states. "I can call LAPD and have him picked up."_

"_No, he's ours," Kensi says,_

"_You guys are pinned in," the blonde detective answers sharply. "One call is all it would take to get a few black and whites out there to –"_

"_We got this, Deeks."_

"_Copy that," Deeks answers tersely. He's not about to make an ass of himself by fighting with his bull-headed partner while she's in the middle of a gunfight._

_That he's even arguing with her at all right now is considering that she is – in fact – in the middle of a ball outs shoot-out is bizarre enough._

"_Well if you're going to take him, you'd better move," Nell tells them. "Like Deeks said, he's doing the whole trying to play cool thing, but assuming he's willing to steal any car he sees, he's likely very close to his getaway vehicle now."_

_On-screen, they see Callen turn towards Kensi. She nods at some kind of signal she gets from him, and then jumps up from her spot and takes off after Cortez. A couple stray bullets follow her, but she somewhat easily ducks out of the room._

_And then she stops at the door and provides Callen with the cover fire to follow her. His escape takes a few seconds longer simply because he has to get himself standing without taking a bullet and he really has nothing to hide behind while doing so. Thankfully, Kensi is a good enough shot to easily pick off the two thugs that had turned his way._

_As he reaches her, the Ops team sees him look once more inside the room._

_That's when they notice King turn over, very much still alive._

_All of that is forgotten a moment later when the camera turns away from the stirring King and heads frantically down the alley as Kensi and Callen race after Jorge Cortez and his briefcase containing the Project Veritas weapon._

* * *

_Somehow, instinctually, Cortez knows that the two Feds (he's quite certain that they are – in fact – Feds) are right behind him. His first thought is to fire back at them, and so he does, blasting off a series of shots in their direction. But they're good – even the woman who is pursuing him in heels and a short skirt. The two agents drop back behind a wall for cover, and then pop off a couple shots of their own. One of them – fired by the woman, he thinks - comes damned close to his head, even managing to graze his ear a little._

"_Cortez," the one he'd thought was Ryan Dylan calls out. "You don't have to die today. Surrender and we bring you in peacefully."_

"_No chance of that. I'm not going to jail," Cortez answers before firing off a few more shots and then moving himself around the side of a nearby car (the one he'd planned to steal in order to make his getaway) so that he can use it as cover. He can't stay here, obviously, but he's not real sure where to go._

_He scolds himself for all of this. He should have been smarter, he should have remembered not to trust anyone. But he knows what had been his downfall – the ridiculous payday that the Project Veritas weapon would have brought him._

_Project Veritas._

_He looks down at the briefcase he's carrying. It'd likely be smarter for him to abandon it. It's not heavy, but it's not exactly easy to carry when you're trying to escape two armed Federal Agents._

_He should leave it._

_Yeah, there's really no chance of that._

_This is his golden ticket and if he has to die to protect it, so be it._

_But right now, priority one is getting away from these two._

_He looks to both sides, his eyes settling on the boarded up door of a nearby warehouse. A faded out sign on the side of it states that it used to house an assembly line for a now defunct toy company. The sign isn't what he focus on, though. What he sees is the door because even from where he's crouched, Cortez can tell that the door has been broken in a bit, likely by squatters._

_That'll work for now, he thinks. All he has to do is lose them in there, and then once he has and has escaped, he can lay low for a bit and wait for his next opportunity to score a payday. With a weapon like this, his chance will come._

_He just has to be patient. And lucky._

_And he has to get the hell away from these two._

_He takes a deep breath, comes out from around the vehicle, fires two more shots (aiming them at the walls of the alley so as to create a ricochet) and then leaps up and takes off towards the broken-out of the warehouse straight ahead._

* * *

"_Kensi, Callen, he's headed for the warehouse across the street," Deeks tells them. On the screen in front of him (which has been split so as to show both Callen's button-video and the warehouse security one), the over-head camera has closed in to show the decrepit door of the warehouse (from the looks of it, a side-entrance that had been used as a way into an office). Someone had chosen to board it up, but someone else had pulled the planks away to allow for a way in._

"_We're pursuing," Callen informs. _

"_Can you bring up blueprints, Mr. Beale?" Hetty asks._

"_Yeah, one second," the blonde tech nods. "And here we go. Three story building. Staircases here, here and here. It's pretty old. I think they make horror movies about places like this. Or Lifetime ones." He shrugs apologetically when he sees the rest of the group giving him the "you're crazy" kind of look._

"_Why was it closed up?" Sam queries, re-focusing the conversation._

"_A combination of too many work related injuries and multiple safety inspection failures. Federal regulators finally forcibly closed it and several other warehouses owned by that company – The Toy House - down. After they did, The Toy House filed for bankruptcy. As for the building, it hasn't used in almost fifteen years," Nell says. "Every now and again, some company buys it and acts like they're going to renovate it, but within a year, it's always back on the market." _

"_Which suggests that there's a lot more structural damage than most companies would like to take on these days," Eric comments. "From the looks of the reports and some of the disclosures filed by the most recent sellers and buyers, it probably should have just been torn down."_

"_Yeah, probably," Callen interjects, reminding the group that he and Kensi are hearing everything they're saying. "But that doesn't matter right now."_

_Deeks opens his mouth to protest, to tell them what a bad idea it is to go after Cortez, but before he can, Sam interrupts with, "They're going in there whether we want them to or not, Deeks. They can't just let Cortez get away."_

"_He's right, Mr. Deeks. It's their job," Hetty tells Deeks, her voice soft and understanding. She empathizes with his worry right now, but being that she pretty much lives with this kind of feeling of dread every single time one of her agents goes into the field, she sees no reason to pull her people out now. Still, into the microphone, she says, "Mr. Callen, Ms. Blye, I'm sure this goes without saying, but please, be very careful going into that warehouse. You don't know what might be waiting for you two in that building."_

"_Don't worry, Hetty," Callen reassures her as the camera shows he and Kensi rising and quickly moving across the street, following after Cortez. "We will be."_

* * *

_True to Callen's assurance, they move cautiously, carefully. Both of them regard the warehouse with suspicion and wariness. While it's absolutely part of the job to chase after Cortez and bring him in dead or alive, going into decrepit warehouses is not what one would typically list as a perk of the position._

_In fact, thanks to all of their time spent in warehouses while undercover, neither agent has much of a love at all for these buildings. Too many places to hide._

_Too many places to get ambushed or shot and killed from._

_And still they pursue, because as Hetty said, it's the job._

"_You okay?" Callen asks as they get to the broken down door and take up positions on either side of it._

"_Fine," she nods._

_He lifts an eyebrow at her, and it's enough for her to realize that he's not exactly talking about the job. The way Deeks has been acting, it's even more obvious than it'd been just an hour ago that there's something going on between them._

"_You're bleeding," Callen notes, agreeably changing the subject. She glances down and notices that true enough, it appears as though one of Cortez's hastily fired shots had winged her exposed left upper arm._

_She frowns for a moment, and then quite suddenly, the expression morphs into an odd smile and she says, "It's just a scratch, Deeks. I'm…good."_

"_Fine," her partner responds, making it clear he doesn't believe her, but having already made enough of an ass of himself today, he's pulling back a bit._

_Strangely, she's rather surprised to find herself a bit conflicted about him doing that. Yes, it drives her nuts how much he worries, and yes, she's still pretty pissed off at him (and she knows that their argument/break-up/whatever has a few more rounds still to come), but it's always been nice having him care. __It's always been nice that he's not so jaded as to think getting shot is no big deal._

_Refreshing really._

_And yet now, like the rest of Hetty's "good soldiers", he falls in line and says what he's supposed to say. Yeah, she's just not sure how she feels about that._

_She looks up, sees Callen looking at her, watching her almost curiously, and quickly decides that it's time to re-track this case. Cortez is somewhere in that building and it's time to haul his ass out._

_And then circle back and return King to prison as well. But maybe not before planting a foot into his crotch for his how handsy he'd gotten._

"_On three," Kensi tells Callen. He nods, lets her count it out, and then in sync, the two of them turn inwards and enter through the wood slats. As they move across the room – they're on the second of three stories – they notice how broken and cracked the floor is. Like it could just fall out from underneath them at any time._

"_I don't like this," Callen mutters._

"_Me either," she admits._

* * *

_The room they're in is incredibly dark and both Callen and Kensi are absent their usual flashlights. The light they're getting is streaming in through broken windows littering the walls. It's not a lot, but it's something._

_And it's all the anxious team in Ops is going to get right now._

_They more hear than see Callen and Kensi walk through the room, their footsteps louder than they should be thanks to all of the garbage and other debris on the floor. At one point, Callen looks down and the camera on his shirt fixes on a small heap of candy wrappers. Maybe thirty or forty in all._

"_They like their Milky Ways," he comments._

"_So you're saying Kensi is squatting there?" Deeks suggests._

_Though he can't see it, he has a feeling (and he's right) that she's smiling at that. _

"_I like Butterfingers," Kensi reminds him, and this is true, which now brings a bit of a smile to his face. And hope to his head. Because maybe if they can return to teasing each other like this, then maybe then can salvage their partnership._

"_Focus," Hetty chides gently, though she, too, is smiling._

_The camera re-adjusts to show the two agents moving towards an open doorway. Things are even darker and fuzzier now, but they can every now and again make out Kensi's body or a glance of her face as Callen looks at her._

* * *

"_On three," Kensi says again before they enter. Once again, Callen lets her count it and then they enter and go through their normal clearing checks._

_After the room has been cleared, Kensi sighs and says, "I don't think Cortez is on his floor. He either went up or down."_

_Deeks wants to tell them not to even think the words he knows are about to come from Callen's lips, but he holds his tongue. Mostly because as edgy and worried as this whole case is making him, Callen and Kensi aren't actually doing anything outside of normal operational guidelines (well aside from Kensi propositioning King, but really, that'd been more of a desperation Hail Mary at the end of regulation than a real pass that had showed any skill or practice). _

"_Up or down?" Callen asks her._

"_I'll take up," she says, glancing around and looking for stairs. They'd already noticed that for some odd reason or another, the up and down staircases for the different floors hadn't been in the same place._

"_Okay," Callen nods. "Hetty, you hearing this?"_

"_Loud and clear, Mr. Callen," Hetty confirms. "We're keeping you both on audio. Please proceed with extreme caution."_

"_That's the plan," Kensi confirms, then motions down a hallway towards where the up staircase is. For Callen, his one down is just a few feet away. She looks over at G, who nods and then slowly, they move away from each other._

_Three things happen within the next minute and a half. First, Callen reaches the bottom floor and immediately sees Cortez and his briefcase there. Second, the two men start firing at each other. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Kensi, who is a few feet away from the stairs leading up, hears the gunfire and heads back in the opposite direction, meaning to supply Callen with backup._

_It's just as she's across the room, stepping on a board that quite literally groans when she settles her heavy boots against it, when the quake hits._

_It lasts all of six and a half seconds, but it needn't last more than that to nearly bring the building down atop them all. Windows shatter inwards, coating her skin with glass and debris. A wall nearby crumbles inwards and far behind her, the boarded up door shatters apart completely._

_For a moment, as the quake rumbles through its six second orchestra of destruction, she simply sways back and forth on her feet, unable to gain purchase anywhere, but still somehow upright. For the briefest of moments, her balance is precarious, but still in check. She knows what's happening immediately, and to the team back in Ops, she whispers, "Earthquake."_

_She hears no response, just a low buzzing in her ear, like a broken line. _

_And then she hears a loud cracking noise. She has the time to look down, even has a brief moment to try to jump out the way (and perhaps this desperate motion is all that saves her from a complete fall) and then suddenly she's dropping through the shattered wood pieces, screaming as she falls._

_The wood catches her a few times, slowing her descent, and then suddenly, she's on a pile of shredded bedding – in this case, several rat eaten sleeping bags. They're not enough to truly soften the hardness of the ground as it collides with her, but they manage to keep her from cracking her skull wide open. That, she supposes, is something of a lucky break (no pun intended)._

* * *

_Deeks and Eric are the first to understand what's happened, both of them long-time natives of Los Angeles. Deeks immediately reaches out for Hetty as the Mission shakes, and puts himself over her. Once the quake has stopped six and a half seconds after it had begun, Hetty favors him with a small smile, her way of saying she likely didn't need the protection, but appreciates the thought._

_Nell, who is beneath Sam, doesn't even bother with the pretense. She smiles nervously at Sam, clutching at his forearm as he helps her to her feet._

_Deeks is the first to regain his bearings. He looks around the room, then over at the LCDs which are showing nothing but static now. It seems that Callen's video signal is no longer transmitting. _

"_We're not receiving any signals at all," Eric states once he's back at his keyboard and typing furiously, trying to bring up any camera he can._

_Deeks doesn't hear him, all he cares about right now is one thing. Hoping and praying that they still have audio, he says, "Kens? Kensi, can you hear me?"_

_Sam joins in a moment later, calling out for his own partner. "G? Answer, G."_

"_Guys," Nell says, her voice a bit shaky as she tries to recover her senses. "I don't think they're receiving or sending. Our systems are –"_

_Before she can finish the sentence, there's a loud whooshing noise, and then suddenly, all the lights in the Mission go off, bathing the entire group in darkness._

"_Off line," Hetty finishes. "Apparently."_

* * *

_Callen returns to consciousness first. When the shaking had begun, he'd been knocked backwards and to his knees. He'd had the presence of mind to look up and see Cortez trying to run, even managing to escape into an adjoining room. Whether the thug had actually made it to safety, Callen has no clue._

_He also, at the moment, doesn't really care._

_His head is ringing and exploding and he wants to throw up. Trying to make sense of things, he vaguely recalls the ground shifting and a wall exploding inwards, a heavy sheet of drywall cracking him against the back and skull._

_Which would explain the migraine and the fact that he hurts. He hurts a lot._

_Still, he reasons, he's alive. And that's something._

_Slowly, wincing, he lefts his hand up and touches his ear. "Sam?" When he pulls his hand away, he sees blood on it. A quick check of his temple reveals a large seeping gash there. He focuses on Ops again, calls for Sam again._

_He hears nothing. He hadn't really expected an answer if he's honest. He's been in Los Angeles awhile now and he knows what happens to this city after the shaking ends – pure chaos. Power lines go dead, communication ends and suddenly, it's like no one can manage to keep calm and sane._

_Just that thought brings a thought streaking into his brain. He hadn't been in this building alone. There'd been someone else with him. Kensi._

_He sits up slowly, stifling the urge to cry out as he moves. He looks around, and then his eyes widen as he sees the shattered floor above. "Kensi!"_

_He pushes himself to his feet, ignoring the pain completely now. He races across the room, and then pulls up hard when he sees her lying there, on her back, blood now staining her skimpy clothing in several places._

"_Kensi, Kensi, Kensi," he says as he drops down next to her. He reaches out for her, presses his fingers to her pulse point and exhales. She's still alive._

_He does a quick external assessment of her, his eyes immediately lighting on her quite obviously broken ankle. It's twisted beneath her, jutting out at a hideous angle that makes him wonder just how bad of a break it actually is._

"_You don't die from a broken ankle," he mutters to himself, trying desperately to remind himself of just how tough this woman is._

_He moves his palms across her face, skull and neck. There's a jagged cut beneath her left eye, but otherwise, that part of her seems all right._

_He then – with some hesitation - places his hands on her chest and starts to run his palms down her. It's an utterly sexless act, and yet he feels a bit like he's invading her privacy by touching her without her consent. What he feels, though, makes those thoughts immediately leave his mind. He thinks he can feel the breaks of her ribs beneath her fingers – more than a few of them. He hopes that he's wrong, that he just doesn't know what they should feel like._

_He knows that he's not, but for the moment, he permits the delusion. Simply because her having several broken ribs right now and likely a mass of internal bleeding does not bode well for her survival. Especially considering that they're absent a way to immediately call for help._

"_Jesus," he mutters to himself as he continues to check her over for injuries. What he's finding is terrifying – simply too many wounds to quickly catalogue and disregard. There's really no doubt about it; she's hurt badly._

_He takes a breath, steadies himself, then leans in and says, "Kens, I need you to open your eyes for me, okay? I need to know that you're…Deeks would hate this, right, but I need to know that you're fine. I need you to tell me that you are."_

_He knows that he's rambling a bit, but suddenly nothing has ever been as important as hearing her voice._

_And then he does. _

"_Callen?"_

_It's more gasped than said, but he'll happily take it._

"_Hey, Kens, there you are."_

"_What happened?"_

_He looks up and can't quite help – even considering the horrific nature of their situation – but smile. "You fell through a floor."_

"_What? Seriously?"_

"_Yeah, only you."_

"_Oh. That's why I feel so fantastic." When he starts to ask her a question, she cuts him off and gives him exactly the answer he needs to hear (even though he now has enough evidence to firmly debunk it), "I'm fine, G."_

"_Okay, okay, good. Do you remember the quake?"_

_She looks up at him, sees the blood streaming down his forehead and reaches for him. "Do you?" she asks, her voice just barely audible._

_He catches her hand. "Yeah. It's fine. Don't worry about me."_

_Perhaps it's her exhaustion or how much pain she's, but for the moment at least, she accepts that. Instead, she asks, "Where's Cortez?"_

"_Don't know, don't care at the moment. Hopefully dead." He studies her for a moment, then asks, "You think you can stand?"_

"_Sure," she nods._

_And to her credit, the ever-stubborn Kensi Blye actually does try to push herself up. Her ankle and ribs immediately protest violently, and Callen sees her press her eyes closed as a nearly unimaginable wave of pain crashes through her._

_He's not surprised when she loses consciousness a few moments later._

_He is surprised when she comes back around a couple minutes after that._

_Times passes quickly after that. All the way up until the moment he reluctantly leaves her to try to get help and ends up collapsed in the stairway leading up. The same stairway he'd come down just a few hours earlier in pursuit of Cortez._

_It's not long after that when another man passes him. A man he'd shot back in the room with a lot of other men after that man had outed Kensi as being an undercover NCIS agent. Callen, unfortunately, never sees him._

_The next thing he does see - albeit through hazy disorientated eyes - is Sam standing over him._

* * *

The two men leave the van quickly, racing towards the building. It's Sam who pulls them up short, reminding Deeks of the damage the building has likely incurred. Absent video, they can only guess just how bad it is, but the imagination, well it's a powerful thing in good situations. In life and death ones such as this? Suffice it to say that it's damn near devastating.

They enter onto the second floor, not the same way Callen and Kensi did (that entrance has caved in) but through a shattered window. As they climb through it, they immediately see the stairway down to the bottom floor.

And then to their mingled surprise/horror/relief, they see Callen lying collapsed there, blood seeping from a nasty looking wound on his temple. He's not moving and for half a second, Sam fears the worst.

"Sam?" Deeks asks as the bigger man places his hands against his partner, searching for signs of life.

"He's alive," Sam confirms. "Go find Kensi."

"Do you know how many favors I had to call in to get all of your names?" King asks her. If she hears him, she doesn't let on, but then, she's shaking so badly now that he'd be surprised if she's in there at all right now. So to speak anyway.

He'd given her a short blast from the Veritas gun on the lowest setting, but even that is too much for her wounded body. She's in shock now, her body quite literally tearing itself apart as she falls closer and closer towards an edge which she won't be able to come back from.

None of that matters to him, though. All that does is that she has enough life left in her to allow him a bit more revenge. A little more payback.

He continues talking as he preps the gun for a second shock, this one a bit more intense (actually a lot more intense than interrogation guidelines call for - the setting he's putting it on really isn't useful for getting some to talk at all). He means to shock her heart like one would do using a defibrillator. He has no idea if it would actually work like that (probably not, he acknowledges, it's actually much more likely to kill her almost immediately) but he thinks it'll be at least interesting to find out. "I always thought it was funny that your team wasn't forced to testify against me in open court. Seemed against my rights. But not to worry. I had my ways. I figured that when I was ready, it would be very easy to track you all down. I just didn't think I'd luck into you like I did. I guess fate owed me one or two, huh? Especially after she put me behind bars with all those monsters. After you put me behind those bars with them."

He's furious now, eyes dark and terrible. The things he'd gone through in prison, they're unbelievable, unspeakable. All because of her.

Time to pay up.

He places the gun against her chest, smiles down at her and –

- finds himself quite suddenly getting lifted away from Kensi. It's a surprise for a moment, but then he's spinning around and he sees Deeks – her partner - there.

"Detective Deeks, glad you could make the show,"

"Shut the fuck up," Deeks growls before slamming his Beretta against King's face, causing the other man to cry out and crumble to the ground, blood rushing down his face. "I can't shoot you in here thanks to all the gases from the quake, but I have absolutely no problem with beating you to death."

King rolls over to look at Deeks, and then, quite inexplicably, he grins and says, "Take your best shot, Detective. But you better hope you win because if you don't, after I kill you, I'm going to finish what I started with her."

That's enough to make Deeks snap. This has been a hell of a day, and it's not even close to over yet. It'd been the kind of morning where you wish to hell you had just rolled back over and returned to your slumber.

Unfortunately, that hadn't been an option then, and it's not one now.

But ensuring that King can never hurt Kensi again is.

He has the brief thought – as he's rolling around the ground with King, and trading blows with him all the while trying to gain control – that this man is just barely the one that Kensi had arrested. He certainly looks the same, and there's some of his insufferable arrogance still around, but there's a nearly unhinged quality to him that is decidedly new.

It's what can happen to a guy like Stanley King when he's thrown into the piranha tank that is Federal prison. Quite clearly, he'd been tormented and tortured in there. While Deeks would never wish that upon any man (well, there are a couple, but they were truly awful human beings – King was just a selfish bastard who hurt people), at this point, he doesn't care.

And so when the opportunity comes, when his hand clutches around the handle of the Veritas gun, he doesn't hesitate. He spins it around, positions it against King's chest and fires until the weapon sputters.

By then, Stanley King is quite dead, his glassy eyes fixed wide in shock.

"Deeks?" Sam calls out.

"Here," he replies as he scampers over to Kensi. He touches her face (wet and feverish), checks for a pulse (there but just barely) and then presses his forehead (now lacerated and bloody) against hers. "With Kensi," he says softly.

Sam comes down the steps, one foot still in the well, like he's not quite willing to let G – who has started to come around, finally – out of his sight. He sees King's body, doesn't even bother to ask what had happened there, finds with no real surprise that he doesn't really care. All he does care about is the man a few feet away from him and the woman Deeks is practically holding. "Deeks, is she…"

"No, she's still here with me," Deeks answers, not moving away from her.

"Good. Look, Deeks, I don't think we're going to be able to get a rescue team down here quickly enough for them. Can you lift her up?"

"Yeah," Deeks replies as he lifts his head away from Kensi and looks over at Sam. "Go on, get Callen to the van. We'll be right behind you."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. Go on, I got her." He waits until Sam is gone to lean in again and whisper into her ear. "You hear that, Kens? I got you. And I don't care what stupid crap you throw out next; I'm not letting you go again. I'm not. I'm not."

**TBC….**


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:** So I meant for this to be 5 chapters flat, but I realized while writing this one that I had a choice - leave it with how this one ends or do some wrap-up. Eh, I'm a sucker for wrap-up so an epilogue is still to come._

_Please be forewarned, I am not a medical professional so anything that makes you giggle medically, apologies. Also, I took some creative license with Jack and his...situation. I think it works, though._

_As always, gratitude to the awesome Twitter ladies, especially the amazingly sublime Jess._

_Thanks in advance for the kind words. Enjoy!_

* * *

"I shouldn't have picked her up," Deeks says once it's just the two of them in the rather eerily long hallway of the hospital. Well, not quite _just_ the two of them. This place is an almost literal madhouse, filled up with hundreds of people – both patients and worried loved ones. The injuries they're seeing come through the doors here range from small and likely harmless to ugly and potentially life threatening.

Neither Deeks nor Sam gives a damn about anyone else but the two friends that they've just handed over to the doctors here at Valley Regional Methodist.

"Deeks," Sam says softly, not unkindly. He knows what the younger man is going through right now, can well imagine the doubts and fears raging through his troubled mind. "You had no choice; you had to get her out of there."

"I could have injured her spine by picking her up. We should have waited –"

"For what? An ambulance that likely would have taken an hour to get to us?" He places a hand on Deeks' shoulder, exerting just a small amount of pressure. "If we had, we wouldn't be here right now, Deeks. We'd be down in the morgue."

"She didn't have the time," Deeks says to himself, his voice quiet and shaky as the mental image of him standing over Kensi's broken and lifeless body tears through his mind. It's too horrible, and yet he suddenly can't make it go away.

"No, she didn't," Sam confirms for him. "Neither of them did."

"Oh, Jesus," Deeks mutters as the reality of his words hits him hard. He scrubs his hands up and over his bearded face and then into his hair. For a moment, he looks just a little bit deranged, his fingers sticking straight up and causing his already unruly blonde locks to jut out at various absurd angles.

"They're in good hands now," Sam assures him. "The doctors here know what they're doing. They'll take care of both of them, Deeks."

These are unnecessary words, but they offer Deeks some small degree of comfort just the same.

"So now we just wait," he says. Deep down, he has a feeling that he should be doing something else – something to help the madness that is currently gripping Los Angeles – but right now, he's not sure he could assist even if wanted to, even if he were to try. The simple truth is, he knows that he wouldn't be able to focus, not with her in surgery, not with her in critical condition like she is.

Maybe that's a bad thing, and maybe that says everything about why they'd broken up, or maybe that's just the nature of them. Of partners in general. Because one look over at Sam – who wears his fears like a stoic soldier ninety-nine percent of the time – and he knows that he's not alone here.

Sam couldn't leave this hospital, either. Not until he knows if his partner will see another sunrise. He has to know. Until then, nothing else matters.

He steps away from Sam, makes his way over to a row of chairs against the wall - the only such set that is mostly empty – and drops down into one of the uncomfortable plastic seats. He looks to his left, looks to his right and sees all the pain and hurt. There are people suffering here today, they're as afraid as he is.

In a weird, maybe even disturbing way, that makes him feel just a little bit better.

Not because people are hurting, but rather because looking around, taking in the faces of all of these varied individuals, it dawns on him that he's not alone in the force of his emotions. There are others in the room who right now, right this moment, are wondering if they will ever have the chance to say the things they need to say to the person they love the very most.

They're wondering – just as he is – if they've lost their chance.

And right now, they're wondering what they could have done to keep this hell from happening. Logically they – as does he – understands that they couldn't have stopped the earth from shaking and breaking. But could they have said and done things differently? Could they have left things in a way less unresolved?

And more importantly, for him, could he have stopped himself from allowing the dark side of himself to burst forward after she'd broken up with him? Could he have prevented himself from hurting her?

He knows the answers to these questions and though there's a voice in his head telling him that she's as much to blame as he is (the voice reminds him that she'd even taken on the responsibility for their fight as a whole, admitting that she'd allowed fear to drive her to break up with him), he can't release himself from the guilty heartbroken burden that settles on his shoulders like a fifty pound weight.

And he can't release himself from the fear that maybe he won't ever have the chance to really prove to her how good they could be together.

"Coffee," he hears, and looks up to see Sam above him, holding out a cup. There's a look in Sam's eyes, and words aren't actually needed for Deeks to hear the message therein loud and clear – "stop doing this to yourself".

If only he could.

"Thanks," he says, taking the cup from Sam. He sips from it, then winces in disgust. It's hot for sure, but entirely too strong. Kind of like…

"Tastes like Kense made it," Sam chuckles, then turns and heads back down the hallway. That's when Deeks notices (he wonders how he hadn't before) that Sam is wearing out a line back and forth down the hallway. Straight and orderly.

He's nervous and scared and worried and frightened.

And again, grotesque though it is, Deeks is thankful for this.

Because again, it means that he's not alone.

Not that that will help one bit if Kensi dies.

Nothing in this world will.

"Detective Deeks, Agent Hanna?" a voice says. Deeks rises first, signaling to Sam to come over once the bigger man turns towards him. Together, they both step towards a much shorter doctor in his late forties named Carey.

"How are they?" Sam bursts out, unable to hide his worried impatience.

"Holding on," Carey answers. "Agent Callen is out of surgery, and is on his way to recovery. He suffered a cracked skull and a fairly serious concussion as well as several more superficial wounds. That said, we're fairly optimistic that absent any further complications, he's going to be just fine."

"What are the chances of further complications?" Sam presses.

"You just never know with head injuries," Carey admits. "But considering all he's been through today, I'd say he's doing pretty well. You should be able to see him in an hour or so if everything stays stable."

Sam allows for a moment of relief, even closes his eyes to allow it to wash over him. G is going to be fine. He's going to be fine. He's going to be fine.

It's Deeks' heavy words, thick with fear, that bring him back, "And Agent Blye?"

"She, unfortunately, is still in surgery. I don't need to tell you that her injuries were far more serious. She suffered a great deal of internal damage thanks to the fall. The good news I can offer you is that there doesn't seem to be any kind of organ failure at the present."

"And the bad news?" Deeks asks, his voice suddenly terribly soft.

"The bad news is that we are dealing with a substantial amount of internal bleeding. But I'll tell you, your friend is fighting like hell right now, and I like to think if she keeps doing that, we can pull her through, but it's going to be awhile before we'll be able to tell you one way or another what's going on."

"So she could still die?"

"Yes," Carey answers with a somber nod of his head. "I can lie to you if that's what you want me to do, Detective, but the truth is – the reality is - Agent Blye's injuries are life threatening in nature."

"Life threatening," Deeks repeats. "Right."

"Keep the faith, Detective," Carey tells him. "That woman in there wants to live."

Deeks just nods at that, feeling coldness wind its way through his body. He suddenly feels like he's encased in ice, utterly unable to move, think or act.

Thankfully, Sam still has control of himself. "Thanks, Doc," he says to Carey. The doctor nods at him sympathetically, then moves away, back through the doors into the operating room. After a brief moment, gently, "Deeks?"

A few long seconds pass where the only sounds Sam hears are those from the people around them. Deeks – usually so talkative and prone to fits of rambling at even the most inappropriate of times – is suddenly stone-cold silent.

It's a bit terrifying, really.

"Deeks?"

Still nothing.

"Okay," Sam says, "That's it. We're going outside."

These words brings Deeks out of his almost catatonic funk. He looks up sharply, brilliant blue eyes wide with fear and panic. "No, no…she needs me here."

"You heard what the Doc said, Deeks. It's going to be awhile before we know anything about her. And an hour at least before we get to check in on G so for now, me and you are going outside and we're both going to get some air."

"You really think there's fresh air out there right now, Sam?" Deeks counters. "All there is smoke and fire and pain and destruction and hurt. And people dying. People who shouldn't be dying because this world needs them. A whole lot more than they need people like me…."

"Deeks…"

"And yet there they're ones who are in surgery. Not me, them."

"Enough. That's enough."

And with that, Sam grabs Deeks' arm and pulls him forcibly down the hallway. There's a bit of resistance from the younger man, but it fades quickly and he allows Sam to pull him into the stairwell, and then down into the courtyard.

It's almost peaceful out here. Almost as long as you ignore the sounds of ambulances and sirens wailing in the distance.

"Look up," Sam says.

"What?"

"Look up at the sky."

"Why?"

"For once, Deeks, just do what I tell you to do."

"Okay, fine. I'm looking up."

"What do you see?"

"The sky."

"What color is it?"

"Blue."

"Exactly. The sky is blue. That way, this way, there's smoke in the air, but there are still blue skies, and there's still things worth fighting for. That woman up there, the one you're beating yourself up over, the one you love, she's fighting because that's what she does. That's what Kensi does. That's what she needs you to do right now. Fight. Don't give up on her. You get me?"

"I get you."

"Good. Now you and me, we're going to stay out here for the next ten minutes or so and we're going to breathe some of this air, and then we're going to go back inside and wait. And we're going to pray."

"What if I don't pray?"

"Today you do."

Deeks just nods at that.

"And both of our partners are going to be just fine."

"You're still worried?"

"Head injuries are weird things, Deeks. I had a buddy in my old SEAL unit take a shot to the head that clean knocked off his helmet. Afterwards, he walked around for half a day thinking he'd gotten damned lucky and then suddenly, without a shred of warning, he just dropped dead of an embolism. I won't really believe G is all right until they release him from the hospital."

"Yeah."

"Breathe, Deeks."

"I'm breathing."

"Good, and if I ever hear you say that you're not worth anything, I'll kick your ass myself. You're a pain in the butt, Deeks, but there's a whole lot of people who are better off because you walked through their lives. Don't you ever forget that."

"Going soft on me, Sam?" Deeks asks with a hint of a smirk.

This small bit of mirth, this tiny sign of the real Marty Deeks, well it's enough to bring a smile to Sam's face. "Hardly," he grunts. "Just deciding that you might be worth keeping around. It'd suck to have find someone else to make fun of."

"Uh huh," Deeks chuckles. "All right then, if you want me to get some air and breathe, then go away and let me have some space, okay?"

"Only if you promise that when you come back inside, you won't be like you were before," Sam replies, her tone quite serious.

"You mean quiet? I thought you liked me quiet."

"I do. But it's actually kind of creepy, Deeks."

"Noted."

"Good. I'm going to take a walk and then I'm heading back inside. I'll see you in ten minutes." He starts away, but gets stopped by Deeks calling him back.

"Sam?"

"You're welcome, Deeks. And no, you can't have a hug."

"Damn. Those look like good hugging arms."

"I'm going now."

He turns then, and heads towards the back of the building. Deeks watches him go, glances around to ensure that he's alone, and then looks back up at the sky.

"All right, he said pray so this is me praying. Whoever or whatever is up there, I'm not completely sure I believe in you, but that doesn't matter. If you're there, I need your help right now, okay? I need you to help her fight. Please. Bring her back to me."

* * *

_This is so weird._

_She's sitting on a bare (though oddly paint splattered) mattress in an apartment she hasn't been inside of in almost eight years. Looking down at herself, she sees that she's wearing men's boxers and a white tank-top, and her legs are crossed under her. There's something almost Zen about her pose and posture._

_Well there would be if she was actually here, she thinks to herself._

_But she's not. She can't be._

_Because this apartment that she's in and this bed that she's sitting on, well she hasn't seen either of these things since the day she left this place behind. _

_And that would have been roughly six months after the Christmas morning Jack had left her without even a note._

_So why is she here?_

_And more importantly, why is he here?_

_Because he is here._

_Jack._

_He's standing in the doorway of the room (well, he's more leaning against it), wearing loose painters' jeans (there are color splotches all over them, and somehow or another, this is familiar to her but for the moment, she can't figure out why) and a tight fitting olive colored tee-shirt that shows off his muscles._

_He looks good, really good._

_Which is strange because the last time she'd seen him – Christmas Eve – he hadn't looked like this at all. Back then, he'd been on the tail end of a rather dramatic amount of PTSD induced weight loss. Back then, he'd been a shell._

_So what is this? And again, why is he here? And why is she here?  
_

"_You look like you're confused, Gorgeous," he says suddenly, a smile settling across his handsome face. His eyes light up a bit when he speaks and she remembers nights spent lying in bed with him, wrapped up right in his arms, looking up into those eyes, feeling like she could lose herself in them forever. _

_And wondering if that would be such a bad thing._

_Turns out, it had been a very bad thing because losing herself in him had only served to devastate her when he'd walked away from her._

_She'd promised herself back then that she would never do it again, would never allow herself to fall so deeply in love with anyone ever again._

_And yet…_

"_Jack," she says to him, not moving. "Is this…is this a dream?"_

"_Not exactly. It's one of those things."_

"_Those things?"_

"_You're dying, Kens," Jack tells her as she approaches her. _

_It takes her a moment, but then it all comes back to her. "The building," she says. "Callen and I…we followed Cortez in and….there was an earthquake and…"_

"_And then you fell through a floor." _

"_Right. Jack, I don't understand. Are you…are you here to take me…wherever?" Then, as if realizing the severity of what's occurring, "Am I going to die?"_

"_I don't know."_

"_What?"_

"_I'm not here to make any decisions for you, Kensi. I'm just here to help you."_

"_Help me? So…this is an out of body experience then?"_

"_Something like that. You have some things you need to resolve. And you have some choices to make. If you want to move on, you can. And that's okay, but if you want to go back, you need to do so with an open heart."_

"_What does that mean?"_

"_It means you need to let me go, Gorgeous."_

"_Jack…"_

"_Because, Kens, I'm already gone."_

"_Gone?" she shakes her head, not quite comprehending what he's saying to her, but suddenly feeling like maybe she doesn't want to hear what he's about to say._

"_You don't know this…or I guess now you didn't know this, but about a year after I left you, I got into some trouble with the wrong kind of people. I was in way over my head and I couldn't pay my debts."_

"_Debts?"_

"_Drug debts. I was using everything I could so that I didn't have to remember Afghanistan or even you. I couldn't deal with what I'd done there, and I sure as hell couldn't deal with having left you. I wanted to go home so badly but every time I started to convince myself to do it, I'd look at myself in the mirror and see what I'd become. I knew you deserved better."_

"_No…"  
_

"_Hang up, Kens. Let me finish this, okay?" Off her nod, he continues, "The guys I was dealing with, they weren't the made for TV break your legs and arms kind of mobsters. They were the kind of dudes who gave you three days to find the money or they'd find a way to settle the debt their own way. I was sloppy and out of my mind and I let one of them find out about you." He laughs somewhat sadly. "It was because of a picture of you that I still had in my wallet. When they saw it, they knew they had a way to make me pay. They were going to go for you. They were going to try to hurt you. Even as fucked up as I was, I couldn't let them do that. So I called the guy I owed money to and told him that I had what he wanted. When he showed up, I pulled a gun out. Time was, no one could have bested me with one, but I wasn't that man anymore, Kens. At least when it was over, they didn't have any reason to come after you."_

_He shakes his head, emotion for the moment getting the better of him._

"_Oh, baby," she whispers._

_He pushes on, his voice cracking. "There's an broken down old yellow and green barn in Bakersfield, way off by the backroads. Hasn't been used in years for anything more than teenage make out parties and keggers. I'm in the field next to it. Maybe if you choose to go back, you find me and bring me home to my mom?"_

_She puts her hand over her mouth, tears forming in her eyes._

"_I made the biggest mistake of my life walking away from you. I knew it then, I knew it at the end, too. But what's done is done. You have to let me go."_

"_I don't know how."_

"_Deeks."_

"_Deeks?" she laughs. "Seriously?"_

"_I was going to ask you the same thing, actually. You fell for a guy with that kind of name?" Jack teases. _

"_Jack…"_

"_Talk to me, Gorgeous. It's okay. I'm okay with him."_

"_It's complicated."_

"_It's not."_

"_And what do you know about it?" she challenges. She stands up from the bed, looks back at the bare mattress, then looks at his jeans and remembers - this is what he'd been wearing the day they'd moved into the apartment. He'd insisted on painting the walls – after the bed had already been in the room – which had ultimately created a disaster area everywhere._

_Which had ultimately led back to the bed._

_Of course. _

"_I know that you're a complicated woman, Kens. You were even back then and that's before you became Agent Blye. Back then, you were just college student Kensi and you were already a woman of a thousand mysteries."_

"_I loved you."_

"_I never doubted that. And I need you to understand that I never stopped loving you. Not for one minute. I just…I couldn't hurt you."_

"_You did."_

"_I know, but if I had stayed, I would have hurt you a lot worse."_

"_I could have helped you."_

"_No, you couldn't have. I wasn't ready to be helped. I just wanted to forget and every single time you wanted to talk, I got so angry. I knew what was going to happen, Kens. I knew. I was going to become something mean and violent and I was going to hurt you in a way I could have never forgiven myself for. I left because I felt like that was the least way I could hurt you."_

"_It wasn't."_

"_And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."_

"_Can I…can I touch you?"_

"_Yeah."_

_She steps towards him hesitantly, reaches a tentative hand towards him, and then – feeling solid flesh beneath her fingertips – practically launches herself into his muscular arms. She feels them slide around her, pressing her body to his._

_And then he's crying, and she's crying, and for a few minutes, that's all there is._

_Until he says softly, "Tell me about him."_

"_What?"_

_He steps back and away from her. "Part of this is about me letting go of you as well. I know you, Kens. This is technically your crossroads, but I know you, you're going to fight and you're going to go back. So I need to know that when you do, you'll get everything you ever deserved. I need to know this guy is good for you."_

"_He's Deeks."_

"_What does that mean?"_

_She smiles then, her eyes twinkling a bit. "It means he's Deeks."_

* * *

_**Six Months Earlier.**_

_She's not altogether sure how this had happened. _

_This, of course, being the fact that she is lying in bed next to her partner (more correctly, she finds that she's lying atop him as she comes to her waking senses), both of them not wearing a single shred of clothing._

_Were she the type to blame others for her actions – and she is absolutely not that type – she'd ask her very naked partner (jokingly, most likely because she knows this man and knows damn well the things he would and would not do) if he'd had taken advantage of her rather drunken state from the previous evening._

_But then, a quick (albeit painful) flash of memory reminds her that he, too, had been quite drunk._

_The questions then are – why and how?_

_Why, too, comes in a painful flash._

_The team had landed a human trafficking case, and after several weeks of working every conceivable angle, they'd finally found their man. Problem was, they'd found him too late to save a sweltering truck full of Mexican immigrants._

_Eighteen souls had been lost – twelve of them children – thanks to heat exposure and lack of fluids. Two had died after they'd been rushed to the hospital._

_That loss, that horrific and heartbreaking near miss had been enough to bring on one hell of a night of drinking for everyone on the team. _

_And then, apparently, it'd been enough to bring on one hell of a night of something else for a certain set of partners._

"_Deeks," she says, rolling off of him and then turning back to face him. She almost reaches for him, but pulls up short. She's guessing that based on their identically naked states (and how and where she'd woken up), that there's been more than enough touching – both decent and indecent - already._

_He grunts in response, and then rolls her way and sweeps her back into his almost shockingly strong arms (how, she wonders, has she never noticed before what nice arms he has?). It's a sudden and quite unexpected movement, but she finds herself helpless to stop it. One moment she's reasonably by herself on the right side of her bed and the next, she's full on his arms, being pulled against his equally well-muscled and wonderfully tanned chest._

_Which really isn't such a bad thing if she's completely honest with herself._

_Except for the fact that this is not supposed to be happening._

_Absolutely one hundred percent not supposed to be happening._

_And yet, again, the nakedness. And dear Lord, the heat radiating off that same nakedness. He's so warm and comfortable and…oh no, no, no._

"_Deeks," she says again, pressing her palms to his chest. She gives him a light push away, sliding a sliver of space between them.`_

"_I heard you the first time," he answers (sounding just a little bit pathetic thanks to the very obviously pounding headache that he has thanks to all the whiskey). _

"_And so…"_

"_I was just hoping you wouldn't say it again because ow…my head." _

"_My head, too. But Deeks…look…down…"_

_Reluctantly, he opens his eyes, and does exactly as told. "Oh."_

"_Oh?"_

"_We're naked," he notes, unable to hide an almost boyish smirk. "Good for us."_

"_That's your reaction to this?" she demands, pulling away from him and sitting up in the bed. Only a last second flash of common sense reminds her to take the sheet with her and place it over her exposed chest._

_He shrugs in response, but doesn't bother to try to wipe away the smirk as infuriating as he has to know it is. "Anything else I say is going to get me hit."_

"_Probably, but say it anyways."_

"_I just think it's a shame."_

"_A shame?" she sounds downright indignant now. Sure, this wasn't supposed to have happened and she's absolutely not happy it did, but he's not supposed to think it's a shame it did. Because…yeah, that's not how this is supposed to work._

_Right?_

"_Whoa there, Kens. Before you knee me in my…very exposed…man parts, can I explain? Maybe? Please?" he asks, sitting up as well. He winces a bit as a ray of sunlight catches his bleary eyes. "What I meant was, I think it's a shame that neither one of us likely remembers all that much about what happened last night. I think maybe…uh…I think maybe I'd like to."_

"_Deeks, it shouldn't have happened at all!"_

"_But it did," he says simply. And then he reaches out and places a palm on her cheek. For a moment, she stiffens beneath the contact, not at all sure what this sudden physical change means for their relationship. _

"_Deeks…"_

"_If you want me to be sorry, I'll tell you I am."_

"_But you're not." She puts a hand over his, and it strikes her just how intimate this connection between them is right now. It's more than just the nudity – though that's certainly a big part of it – it's the touching. The touching just feels right._

_And wow if that isn't terrifying._

"_No. Honestly, this…well it just seems to me this was just a…natural progression of our…thing," Deeks answers. _

"_Our thing. Our thing is sex now?"_

"_You make it sound so dirty when you say it like that," he smirks. "Which you know, isn't a problem for me at all, but I never took you for such a prude."_

"_I'm not a prude."_

"_Really?"_

"_Really."_

"_Hey, you're the one with a sheet over you."_

"_I think that you've seen more than enough for one day."_

"_See? Prude." He's baiting her now and she should resist and not wade into the middle of this, but he knows as well as she does that she's not going to be able to help herself. He can always pull her in. He can always make her play._

"_Deeks!" But she's smiling just a bit, amused in spite of herself, in spite of the complications that this – whatever this is - brings on._

_He grows oddly – abnormally – serious for a moment. "I'm just saying…why is what happened between us last night…so bad? I mean, besides the fact that neither one of us remembers it. That kind of sucks."_

"_Well, that for one. We were both clearly not thinking straight which is a terrible thing to act upon."_

"_Can't really argue that, but we're not perfect, Kens."_

_She reacts to that statement by grinding her jaw. It's kind of cute, he thinks. Course he'd never tell her that. Especially as exposed and vulnerable to painful knee-based attacks from her as he is currently._

_Instead, he asks, "I know, you hate hearing that. But tell me something. I've never understood this about you. Why is having a moment of –"_

"_Weakness?" she inserts._

"_Not what I was going to call it, but sure. Why is having a moment of 'weakness' with someone you trust – and I presume you still trust me – a bad thing?"_

"_Of course I trust you, Deeks."_

"_But?"_

"_But a moment of weakness at all is always a bad thing. Always."_

"_Bullshit. It makes us human, Kensi."_

_She shakes her head at that. "No. Human is just a way of saying…"_

_This time he's the one who says it, albeit it with a bit of a knowing smirk playing across his lips, "Weak?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Oh well."_

_And then he does something she would never have seen coming (though in retrospect, she probably should have); he leans forward and lightly brushes his shockingly soft lips against hers. The contact is almost unbearably gentle, just firm enough to allow her to taste him. _

"_Deeks," she breathes after he moves away. That she wishes he hadn't moved away at all tells her something – well, it actually tells her everything._

"_We see and go through so many terrible things," he says. "Why is it so bad every now and again to find comfort with someone you trust?"_

"_I…"_

"_It's not bad," he tells her. "It's natural. And maybe it's even us."_

"_So partners with privileges then? That's what you're saying?" she asks. He remembers calling it that before in jest, just to get under her skin. This time, they're talking about it for real. _

_This time, it's already happened._

_He shrugs again. "I don't have a problem with it."_

"_Deeks, this could get serious. It could get out of control."_

"_We won't let it."_

"_It could destroy our partnership."_

"_We'll stop it before it gets to that point."_

"_Yeah?" she seems almost hopeful, and he thinks about how strange that is._

"_Yeah, Kens," he answers, then leans in and kisses her again. This one is much more forceful and passionate, and this time, she chooses to extend it. This time, she chooses to reach around him and pull him to her, and ultimately over her._

"_Might as well figure out what happened last night," he says to her between kisses. His words trail off as his lips make their way across her collarbone. _

"_Right," she answers, though it sounds more like a gasping moan than an actual word. As he makes his way down her, she feels a surge of white-hot heat rocket up through her, from her toes to her gut to her ears._

"_I agree completely with whatever you just said," he chuckles, speaking his words into the soft skin of her neck. He's about to move further south when he hears her says his name again, a question in the tone._

"_Deeks," she says, "We will stop if this gets weird, right?"_

_He looks up at her, sees the worry in her dark eyes, the need to know that they'll be okay. And so he nods his head and smiles. "Promise," he tells her._

"_Okay. Then carry on."_

_And with that, she drops her head back against the pillow and allows the many sensations of him touching her to wash over her._

* * *

"_He lied," Kensi tells Jack, while she stands next to the wall in the bedroom, staring out a window. Years ago, this window had offered a rather simplistic view of a fairly busy street. Now, oddly enough, there's a green field out there._

"_Maybe a little. But he probably thought he could control the feelings. Time was I thought the same thing about you. But you're not like other women, Kensi."_

"_I've heard that before. Never knew what it meant."_

"_It means you're amazing."_

"_I don't feel so amazing. I hurt him."_

"_You protected yourself. You protected him."_

"_That doesn't make it right." She looks up at Jack when she says this, the point of her words clear. She's talking about them here._

"_I know, but what's done is done. I can't fix what I did. I can't come back, and honestly, I'm not sure I'd want to anyway. I love you dearly, but I'm at peace now. I wasn't then. Besides, Gorgeous, I'm not who you want anymore anyway. You're not twenty-one year old Kensi anymore. You're Agent Blye."_

"_Yeah. Sometimes I'm not sure Agent Blye is such a great catch."_

"_I think you partner would disagree."_

_She smiles at that. "My partner is an idiot."_

"_But he's good for you."_

"_Yeah. I don't know what I'd do without him."_

* * *

_**Three Months Ago.**_

_She's shaking. _

_He's never seen her like this. Not even after she'd taken a bullet to the side, discovered her mother had been living ten minutes away from her for years, and decided that she was going to go after the man who had murdered her father._

_She'd been focused and determined then. Sure, she'd had her emotional moments, but she'd never looked like she was about to completely break down._

_Not at least that he'd seen._

_What he's seeing right now is something new, and it's horrifying._

_She's against the wall, and she's crumbling and he can't possibly get to her fast enough to keep her from collapsing. Doesn't mean he doesn't try._

"_Kensi!" he calls out as he jerks in her direction. Sam and Callen are right behind him, but he'll get there first. Still a moment too late, but it'll have to do._

_He grabs onto her shoulders as he falls down next to her, pressing them hard into her skin. There will likely be bruises after the fact, but he couldn't possibly care less. Right now, he's more worried about the haunted look in her eyes._

_She shakes her head. "It's my fault, it's my fault."_

"_No, it's not."_

_But she's not listening. All she's seeing is the face of the child she didn't save. A little girl named Sara that she'd taken to and decided that come hell or high-water, she was going to protect. _

_Only, she'd failed. _

_The whole case had been a clusterfuck of hurt and pain and loss. Sara, at only nine years of age, had been the only survivor of a massive cartel hit. She'd seen it all – seen her parents who had dared to stand up to the mob and paid the price for their courage – and because of that, she had been their key witness. _

_Their once chance to put a massive heroin producer behind bars for life._

_The cops and NCIS had seen her as their lucky break._

_Kensi had seen her as shadows of herself. Sara had been smart and witty and funny, a girl with an old soul and a spirit well beyond her years._

_Deeks had warmed to Sara just as quickly, but it'd been Kensi who had made it personal. It'd been Kensi who had put her own life on the line to protect Sara._

_Problem is, it hadn't mattered._

_They'd done almost everything right._

_What they hadn't known, however, was that the cartel had had an inside man. Likely someone on the LAPD side. Whoever it'd been – and Deeks knows that they will find this man, of that he has no doubt – had leaked the location of the safe-house where Sara had been taken to, a little motel near Santa Monica._

_When the cartel hitmen had shown up, he and Kensi had tried to fight them off. They'd called for backup, both believing that by the time Sam and Callen and whatever the LAPD sent arrived, it'd all be over anyways._

_They'd been right._

_The cartel hitmen had gotten aggressive and attacked all at once, one of them knocking Kensi through a window. A brief skirmish had followed, one which Kensi had eventually won. Blood dripping down her face, she'd turned to survey the room and that's when she'd seen the man standing over Sara's broken body._

_Deeks likes to think that Sara had died quickly, even painlessly. That hardly matters, though. Certainly not to his shattered partner._

_After killing the man who had executed a nine-year-old child, Kensi had held it together long enough to deal with the coroner and the LAPD and every other high and mighty official who had come through to see the pain and carnage._

_Her collapse hadn't happened until they'd gotten back to the Mission. That's when she'd started shaking. That's when she'd come apart._

_And that's where they are right now._

"_I failed her, Deeks. I promised her I'd keep her safe. I promised." She's looking past him, seemingly at Callen and Sam who are behind him, but he has the distinct feeling that she's not actually seeing them standing there._

"_I know."_

_He reaches forward and pulls her into his arms. It's an incredibly intimate kind of embrace, and perhaps it says too much to the others about the true nature of their relationship, but right now, he just doesn't care._

_All he cares about is taking care of her._

_All he cares about is holding her._

"_We tried," he tells her, though he knows that such words are weak balm to her wounded soul. He touches her brow, runs a finger over the cut there. "We tried."_

"_I should have done more."_

"_We both should have done more. We're in this together. Always."_

_She meets his eyes, seeing what he's saying to her – promising her._

_And then she nods slowly and allows herself to sag into his arms for just a moment. It's just a few seconds, but it says everything about how much she trusts him, how much she's willing to allow him to see about her._

_After a few moments, he feels her stiffen, feels her pulls herself back together, physically feels her return to the strong stoic woman that he's used to._

"_Okay, good. Good. You think you can stand up? At least get over to the couch so we can stop freaking everyone out."_

_She looks up, then, seeing the others standing there, watching with matching looks of concern and worry. Both Sam and Callen look like they're seconds away from pushing Deeks out of the way so that they can get to her._

_That would be a mistake._

"_Yeah. I can…"_

"_I know, do it on your own. Humor me for once."_

_She acquiesces to this, allowing him to help her up and lead her to the couch. He settles her on it, then sits next to her._

"_I'm okay," she tells him. "I just…I lost it."_

"_I know. Now I'm going to go get you some tea from Hetty, and you're going to drink every bit of it, and then I'm taking you home. Got it?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_I'm here, Kens. I'm always here."_

"_I know."_

* * *

"_It's always been me in the way of us," Kensi says with a shake of her head. Then, turning to face Jack, she asks, " Would you have loved this me?"_

"_I would love any you, Kensi."_

"_I'm not so sure about that. I'm so messed up right now."_

"_No offense, my love, but you've always been a bit messed up. From the day I met you, you had your dad's loss burning down deep in you. You were angry and full of crazy and I loved you anyways because you know what, Gorgeous? You might be turned around when it comes to love, but you're a hell of a woman. You're loyal and generous and strong and beautiful. And you're courageous. You're still all the things I fell in love with. You're just a lot more now."_

"_More?"_

"_Who you were then was incredible. Who you are now is amazing."_

_She lets this wash over her for a moment, then turns back to look at the grass patch outside the window. "Is that the afterlife?" she asks after a moment._

"_It's what's on the other side, I suppose. Peace."_

"_Sounds nice."_

"_Yeah, it is. For me, but not for you. You're not ready for it."_

"_Aren't you supposed to tell me it's my choice?" she asks with a laugh._

"_Yes. And technically, It is your choice, but you Blyes never quit."_

"_You Blyes?"_

"_Let's just say your dad wanted to do this little talking you through gig, but we decided that he might not be the best one to encourage you to give any man a chance. No one is good enough for his little girl."_

_She chuckles at that. Then, growing serious, "I miss him. I miss you."_

"_We both know that and we both miss you, too. And when the time comes, we'll both be there to greet you. That time isn't now."_

"_It's going to hurt going back."_

"_Probably. You fell through a floor. Tends to leave a couple marks. But you'll be okay. Your body will heal. Time to let your heart do that as well."_

"_I never would have left you," she tells him._

"_I know. I knew that then, too. That's why I had to leave you because you deserved better than that. I owed you a chance to be happy. I hope I'm paying that debt back today."_

_He steps over to her, pulls her into his arms again and kisses her on the cheek. _

"_I will see you again?" she asks._

"_When the time is right. So many years from now, okay? Please? Be happy, Kens. Live a long life and have everything you ever wanted. Please."_

_She answers with a quick sharp nod of her head, and then, sensing that her remaining time with him is short, she lowers her head and digs it into his shoulder. She wants to hold him while she still has a few seconds left to do. _

"_I love you," he tells her._

_She doesn't respond, just holds on tighter even as she begins to feel him fading away, becoming less and less corporeal. _

_And then he's gone, leaving her alone in the room._

_She looks around, looks out the window at the grass and then moves back towards the bed. Somehow, she just knows what she needs to do. She sits herself back down on the paint splattered mattress, folds her legs under her body, closes her eyes, and focuses._

_And that's when she hears the male voice of a doctor say, "There we go, Kensi. There we go. Come on back to us. That's it. There we go."_

* * *

He's by himself in the hallway when he sees Doctor Carey exit. Sam is somewhere inside, sitting next to Callen's bed. The reports about G have continued to be generally upbeat, and everyone seems quite optimistic.

Which is fantastic.

But all he sees is Carey walking towards him.

He thinks about Hetty. He'd talked to her on the phone just a few minutes earlier, giving her the news about Callen, and telling her that they still had no real update on Kensi as of yet. Hetty had echoed Sam's words, telling him that Kensi would pull through, assuring him that she wouldn't give up this fight so easily.

Now, as Carey steps ever closer to him, he hopes to God that Hetty is as right as she usually is. Now would be a terrible time for her to human in that regard.

"Detective Deeks," Carey says.

"How is she?" he asks, not caring for the simple formalities.

"Doing considerably better now."

"Now?"

"We almost lost her there, but she fought her way back. She's stable now."

"What about the bleeding?"

"We've managed to locate and control it."

"So…she's going to pull through?"

"She's not completely out of the woods yet, but right now, I'd have to say things are looking up. We expect to transfer her to the ICU shortly."

"Wow."

"Yeah, tell me about it. It's been a hell of a day, and unfortunately I've lost more than I've saved so I admit, it's nice to be able to relay some good news."

"Yeah, I bet. Thank you."

"Certainly. So it'll likely be awhile before she can have visitors so I'd suggest either you go home and get some sleep which I'm guessing you have no intention of doing or you join your friend in visiting Agent Callen in recovery. I'll let you know as soon as Agent Blye is able to have you in."

"Okay. Thanks again, Doc."

"Sure." Carey turns and moves away, leaving Deeks again alone.

He looks up at the ceiling, picturing a blue sky in his mind for a moment. And this time, when he says "thank you", he's saying it to whoever had helped her fight.

This time, he's thanking whoever or whatever it was who had convinced her to come back to him.

**TBC…**


	6. Epilogue

**A/N: Much thanks to all of the readers of this little love story between Kensi and Deeks. **

**Apologies as always for the long delays. ****My goal was to complete this before the ****premier, and with just a day to go, I met that mark. As such,** she is complete now, and I hope she satisfies as we head into the 4th season of our show. 

**Thanks to my awesome writer buddies on Twitter - you guys are amazing. And thanks to all who read and comment - every writer says it: you help grease the wheels and make the words come.**

**Again, thanks and enjoy.**

* * *

LAPD Detective Marty Deeks is not what a normal person would call a patient man. There are those who believe otherwise simply because he's so damned good at playing the role of affable doesn't give a damn wayward surfer, but those who actually know him (and there are very few who really do) know the that the real truth is that he's not very good at doing well…nothing.

And nothing is exactly what he's doing right now.

And exactly what he's been doing for the last three days of his life. What he's been doing ever since the doctor had somewhat grudgingly allowed him to take a seat next to Kensi Blye's hospital bed.

Three days.

It's been three almost obscenely long days since he'd last woken up next to his spitfire partner – his lover – in her bed.

Three excruciating days since he'd last held her tight in his arms, her wonderfully tanned and toned body almost scorching hot against his own.

Three unbearable days since she'd broken up with him.

Three heartbreaking days since he'd allowed his hurt and pain over believing that he'd lost her to nearly destroy them both.

And three soul-shattering days since she'd nearly died.

The good news is that the doctors' believe that she's out of the woods. They believe that absent a sudden unexpected turn for the worst, once she wakes up, she's going to be all right.

Eventually.

Her recovery will be long and frustrating (because it's Kensi) but she will recover. The worst of her injuries is her badly broken ankle – which she'd undergone surgery for a day earlier. It'll heal, though. All of her will.

Once she wakes up that is.

And there in lay the problem. It's been three days, and dammit he needs her to wake the hell up.

He's not sure what he'll do if she doesn't. Marty Deeks isn't a melodramatic man no matter what others might think. He's not a drama queen prone to fits of romantic silliness. No, deep down, what Deeks is is a very lonely man who isn't quite sure what he'll do if Kensi doesn't come back to him.

He hates the way that makes him sound – like he can't survive without her. He's lost a lot of people in his life, and he's carried on each time. He knows that if forced to do so, he'd do it without her as well.

But he doesn't want to.

He just wants her back.

He wants to apologize and tell her how much he loves her. He wants to know what an idiot he is and how sorry he is for every word, every ounce of anger and frustration. He wants her to know that he'll wait for her to be ready.

He wants her to know they can make it if she'll let them.

Shaking his head, his heart heavy with the absence of her (especially with her physically so damned close to him), he reaches out, takes one of her hands, brings it to his lips and kisses it.

"Come back to me," he whispers, not for the first or last time. "Please."

* * *

On day four, they finally release Callen from the hospital. Pleased by the cranial scans he sees, the doctor finally relents to constant pressure from the NCIS team leader to just let him go home and recuperate in his own space. Callen is typically cranky and Sam is typically overbearing, but the truth that none says aloud is that him being back up and on his feet is a relief for everyone.

Because it means that things are getting back to normal.

Or at least they're pretending to try to.

No one mentions the fact that right now, Los Angeles is anything but normal.

The amount of damage – both physical and human – that was done to the city thanks to the earthquake is absolutely staggering, and it's going to take a long time for everything to settle. A long time for everything to be normal.

But as Sam likes to remind everyone, things will eventually settle. They will eventually calm down again.

Believe it or not, everything will be all right again.

Because the sun still rises and sets every day. It's just that simple.

Now if only…

"She will wake up, Mr. Deeks," a voice says. A few seconds later he hears the still shockingly soft footsteps of Henrietta Lange as she enters. She stands above the chair he's been practically living in for the last several days, a softly bemused smile upon her lips.

She wonders to herself how his back is feeling. Probably feels like shit.

Yeah, she's been there a time or two.

With him actually, not too long back. Sure, she'd just been waiting for him to come to for the morning as opposed to at all, but it'd still been waiting.

And hoping.

And praying.

And Hetty knows what Kensi means to Deeks. Has for a very long time. She knows the depth of his emotion, knows how far over any sane line he is for Kensi. And she knows how truly reciprocated it actually is.

Which is why this whole emotional explosion had been so very sad.

Hopefully, that's behind them now. Tragedy has a way of talking sense into people. Even stubborn mules like Kensi Blye.

"She will wake up," Hetty repeats again. She briefly considers reaching down to touch his face – so taken is she of the need to comfort the young man – but chooses not to. Not because he'd pull away – he wouldn't – but because he's trying to emotionally protect himself right now.

Because no matter how many times everyone assures him that his partner/lover will wake up, he's not completely sure he believes it.

Because she hasn't woken up yet.

And despite all the reassurances, he's terrified she never will.

"Any time she'd like to would be nice," Deeks admits.

"I know, my dear. But would she be Kensi if she did it on any timeline besides her own?" Hetty cracks.

He chuckles at that. "No, I suppose not."

* * *

On day five, Hetty and Sam finally – and with a degree of brute SEAL style force – make him to leave the hospital long enough to go back to his place, grab, a hot shower, get himself cleaned up and get something to eat (he stops by Starbucks, grabs a couple of coffees and a few bagels).

Post shower (it feels good, he admits, though probably not near as good as sleeping in own bed would probably feel) he doesn't bother with shaving, doesn't worry about picking out a shirt that isn't ironed. Instead, with very little thought about it, he throws on his oldest jeans and a faded out well-worn Los Angeles Clippers sweatshirt and gets the hell back to her side as quick as possible.

He's gone maybe two hours total. Probably not what Hetty and Sam had been going for, he thinks to himself. Oh well, they'd deal with it. As always.

When he steps into the room, he sees her mom there, holding her hand. The seemingly inexhaustible Julia Feldman (definitely Kensi's mother, he's realized) has been here at the hospital almost as much as he has, spelling him whenever he's needed a quick nap or a fast walk around just to stretch his legs.

Other times, she's just sat on the opposite side of Kensi, holding the hand Deeks hasn't been. Sometimes she's sung to her daughter, the words unintelligible to him, but the simple flowing melody lovely beyond description.

Over the last several days, Deeks feels as though he's gotten to know Julia pretty well. She's not a guarded woman like Kensi (some of that had clearly come from Donnie Blye, some of it has come from the damaged path that his partner had been forced to walk, Deeks realizes), but nor is she an open book. She's been through a lot of life as well, and he's more than a little honored by her seemingly easy willingness to open up to him about her past with her daughter.

Kensi, on the other hand, will probably be horrified to learn just how many of her childhood secrets he now knows.

All the better to annoy her with when she wakes up.

"Marty," Julia Feldman says as she accepts the cup of coffee from him. Julia is much more delicate than Kensi, prefers sweeteners and flavorings as opposed to Kensi and her black with a handful of sugar mixture. It occurs to him as she lightly pats his forearm that Julia only calls him Marty. Never Deeks.

How very motherly, he thinks with a hint of age-old sadness.

"How's our girl?" he asks as he's asked every single time he's returned to the room. It's a running word-play now between them, something that earns him an affectionate smile from Kensi's mother.

"Being stubborn as usual," Julia chuckles between sips from the coffee cup. This is her part of the game. They've repeated the same two lines back to each other so many times now that it's almost automatic.

They rather wish it weren't.

They rather wish she'd just wake the hell up.

* * *

On day six, at just after three in the morning, Kensi finally _does_ wake up.

He's sleeping - his chin drooped against his chest - beside her bed when she finally opens her eyes almost exactly six days after she'd fallen through the rotted out floor of a warehouse that she and Callen had followed a suspect into.

He's by himself – having convinced Julia to head home for the night and get some rest in her own bed. He'd only won the concession by agreeing to do the same the next day. Both had known that he'd have found a way to get around the agreement, but so exhausted had Julia been, she hadn't argued for long.

As Kensi comes to, she coughs violently her throat rough like sandpaper. She tries to open her eyes, but the lighting in the room immediately assaults her, and she quickly seals them shut again, hissing a bit in protest. She might even utter a soft expletive, but it's lost in the rasping of her slightly out of practice voice.

"Easy, baby," she hears him say. "Just take it easy. Don't try to move, okay?"

She doesn't even need to look up at him to know whom it is speaking to her. The very simple reality is that she'd know his voice anywhere, anytime. Especially now. There's a nearly hysterically happy tilt to it, relief times a thousand.

"Deeks," she whispers as she forces her eyes open so that she can look up at him. The light still hurts but each passing second reduces the discomfort. And really, after everything (her memories return to her quickly, painfully), she just needs to see him. Needs to know that he's still…here.

She's guessing – hoping - that he needs to know the same thing.

"I'm right here, Kens." He reaches out and places a hand on her cheek, cupping it a bit and allowing her to feel the softness of his palm. The man moisturizes, and right now, she's never been happier for that because it's so uniquely him.

"Don't…" she winces a bit as she struggles to get her words out, fighting through the painful dryness in her throat. "Don't…"

For a moment, he thinks she's referring to him holding her hand, and irrationally, he feels a flare of hurt go through him. After everything they've gone through…

Turns out he's jumping the proverbial gun quite a bit because finally, she manages to force out in a shaky voice, "Don't call me baby, you dumb surfer."

And she's smiling at him. At least as much as she can considering the absolutely brutal amount of high intensity painkillers that she's currently looped up on.

He laughs in response, then leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead, holding it for far longer than is technically necessary. "I missed you so much," he says. His tone is humorous, but his words are intense, heartfelt and pained.

Kensi considers telling him that she hasn't been gone long, but decides against it because the truth is that she doesn't know how long she has been gone. A glance at Deeks tells her it's been a few days at least. His blonde beard is heavier than usual, and a bit less groomed than it typically is. There are dark circles beneath both his eyes, and a weariness glinting dully in his blue orbs.

He's clearly completely and thoroughly exhausted.

She rather suspects that he hasn't left her side since the day she was brought in. Which probably means that he's slept very little during that time.

With some effort, she lifts her hand up, and weaves it through his blonde hair, pulling him tightly against her, his lips still pressed to her forehead, a slight hint of moisture against her skin. "I'm here," she tells him as she feels one of his tears streak down her cheek. "I'm right here, Deeks."

He pulls back and away, so that their eyes can meet, and she finds that she's more than a little gut-punched to see just how wet his eyes really are. "Good," he says, voice painfully low. "Don't leave me again."

He's so serious, so painfully completely unlike Deeks that it breaks her heart.

Because she'd done this to him. Whether by breaking up with him out of fear or by nearly getting killed in the chaos of an earthquake and the op gone bad.

She'd almost left him.

Both emotionally and physically.

"I'm sorry," she tells him.

He shakes his head. "No, none of that."

"Deeks."

"No, you're okay. That's all I care about."

"I need you to let me apologize."

"I don't need an apology, Kens. I just need you."

"I scared you." It's a statement, not a question.

"Yeah. You scared the hell out of me, Fern."

"I kind of scared the hell out of me, too," she admits with another sharp painful sounding cough. She accepts a cup of water from him, and sips it down, her cautious mind reminding her that anything more dramatic than sips will likely cause her somewhat queasy stomach to revolt.

"Don't do it again then, huh?" he suggests, a gentle teasing to his tone. "You think you can promise me that?"

"No."

"Yeah, didn't think so," he sighs, but he doesn't sound annoyed. Simply because…

"It's me, Deeks. I'm still me." Her tone is less teasing, more reminding. She loves this man deeply, but he has to understand who she is. He has to know.

And he does.

"Still crazy. Right." These words are said with considerable affection, which wins him a smile from the beautiful but wounded woman lying before him.

Before she can answer, the door opens and young female nurse enters, a big smile on her face. "You're awake," she says. "Welcome back, Agent Blye."

"Thanks," Kensi replies, reluctantly pulling her eyes away from Deeks. "When can I go home?"

"Wow. All right, I guess owe you a twenty, Detective," the nurse says to Deeks, a wide grin breaking across her pretty face.

"Yes, you do," Deeks nods, a matching grin on his face.

"Twenty?" Kensi queries wearily.

"I bet her that even though it's the most absurd thing ever, that would be your first question to her," Deeks grins, holding out his hand. The nurse presses a crisp twenty-dollar bill into it. "And it was."

Kensi simply groans in response. "So that's a no then?" she asks the nurse.

"That's a no," the nurse confirms. "Not for a few more days at least. I know you're tough, but we want to monitor your pain tolerance…"

"My pain tolerance is fine," Kensi answers immediately, despite the vague but not quite concentrated bursts of pain that she keeps feeling slithering through her achy body. She knows that she's drugged, and the meds are certainly blunting the vast majority of the discomfort she's in, but every now and again, she feels something that feels pretty damned awful.

Not that she'd tell anyone.

"So I've heard," the nurse nods. "But you've been given a very strong cocktail of painkillers, and before you head home, we want to wean you off them, and ensure that you're doing all right. We also want to ensure your ankle is healing up well from its' surgery before we release you. All standard op, I assure you."

"So what you're saying is I'm not going home tonight," she grumbles again.

"No, my dear, you're not." She says this with a humoring smile that Kensi gets the feeling should be charming, but she rather finds it obnoxious. Still, even she knows that she's mostly fighting just to fight. Even she knows that there was no realistic chance of her leaving the hospital the same morning she came to.

"Can I have some soup at least?" she asks with a resigned sigh.

"Soup should be fine, though I would caution you against eating too much of it. Your stomach could still be queasy. I can have it sent up from the cafeteria."

She makes a face at that, which makes Deeks chuckle. "Or I can drive down to the sandwich shop and pick you up some of your favorite chicken noodle," Deeks suggests with a lop-sided entirely too adorable grin.

She lights up at this, and he can't help but feel an almost absurd amount of warmth streak through him. Not many people realize it, but Kensi has a very goofy side to her, a slightly unrefined unreserved part of her that she lets very few people see. He's seen it, though. And he's seeing it right now.

Sure, she's drugged up and that's at least partly to blame, but he likes to think that he's responsible for it as well. He likes to think that at their best, they bring out the best in each other. They allow each other some…respite.

Yeah, that's a good word.

Neither of them are the type to dwell over the nightmares of their past, neither is about to ask for pity from anyone. Just the same, they both carry difficult memories and decisions around with them.

And he likes to think that what they do for each other is relieve that burden.

This time, he's going to find a way to make her believe it.

"Yes, please," she chirps.

"There's a place open at this time of night?" the nurse asks.

"Yeah, a little dive we found," Deeks responds. He doesn't tell her the whole story of how after Kensi had come down with the flu several months earlier, he'd driven around town looking for soup for her sick partner. Anything to make her feel better. To Kensi he says, "All right, I'll get you your soup, but you'd better be awake when I get back. I'm sick and tired of listening to you snore."

"I don't snore."

"Yes, you do. And your mom can back me up this time."

Kensi glances around the room. "My mom? Is…is she here?"

"She was. I sent her home for the night. I'll give her a call and get her back here."

"No! Let her sleep."

"Not a chance," he laughs, shaking his head in amusement.

"Deeks…"

"I'm going to go call your mom – no arguing, she wants to be here – and then I'm going to get you your soup. I expect you to be here when I get back."

She furrows her brow at this, momentarily confused. After all, hadn't the nurse just stated that she wouldn't be allowed to leave for a few more days? But then, staring up and into his bright blues, she gets it; this isn't about leaving the hospital, this is about leaving him.

Funny how they both essentially have the same fears. Funny how she hadn't seen it before. Perhaps funny isn't the right word.

She smiles, tries to say as much with her eyes as she can manage. "I'll be here." She softens her voice then, and adds, "I promise."

He exhales.

* * *

It's just about a week later, as she's trying to test out her surgically repaired ankle (against doctors' orders, of course) when the door to the room opens, and Callen enters. He's got a nasty looking mostly-healed cut on the side of his head, and about a weeks' worth of facial hair, but otherwise, he looks all right.

Alive and well.

Well, alive anyway.

Before she can follow down the path of wondering if her team leader – and good friend – is all right, he says, "You're not supposed to be up on that yet, are you?" He's smiling slightly, but it doesn't quite reach his blue eyes. There's something else there, something distinctly Callen like and yet right now, even more so.

He looks…haunted.

She shrugs her shoulders and without a lot of grace, allows herself to drop back down to the bed, trying to ignore the shrieks of pain coming from her ankle. "They didn't give me an exact timeline."

"No?"

"Not down to the minute anyway," she sighs, reaching down with her fingers to inspect her soft casted up ankle. She has absolutely no business even thinking about putting weight on it yet. And yet in typical Kensi Blye fashion, she'd tried.

And for once, failed.

Which rather pisses her off if she's honest with herself.

"Uh huh. You have screws holding your ankle together, Kens. It's okay to take your time getting back up on it."

"That sound like me, G?"

"No," he answers with a smirk.

"Good, because this doesn't sound like you. You never doubt me."

"Never have reason to."

"Exactly. So what's going on? You okay?"

He nods his head. "I'm fine." He makes his way over to a clipboard sitting on one of the trays and picks it up, looking at it without reading a single word of the text. Finally, "I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to come by and see you until today."

"It's okay. You took a pretty bad blow to the head. I'm guessing you've been at home resting. As much as you ever rest."

"Yeah. Thing is, my head has been healing for going on a week and a half. I should have been here to see you sooner," he tells her, looking up to meet her eyes. She can see the turbulence within his, can see the fight being waged even though she's unclear what the struggle is about.

"I don't need people sitting by my bedside," she tells him as she scoots back up on the bed, bringing up her soft casted foot and lifting it up onto a stack of pillows. "Deeks and my mother do enough of that for everyone."

"Yeah, I bet. Speaking of, where are they?" Callen asks, glancing around. There are crutches in the corner – not that Kensi is even remotely ready for those yet – but no sign of the typically omnipresent scruffy detective or Kensi's impeccably put together mother.

"At home sleeping, hopefully. I had to tell both of them that if they didn't leave, I was going to ask the doctors to ban them."

"Which they'll never do because from what I hear, Deeks and your mom are the only reasons you haven't tried to break out yet."

"Who says I haven't tried?"

At that, Callen grins. Which earns him a return smile from her.

And then, "So why haven't you come to see me then, G?"

"Truth?"

"Always preferable," she replies, though she's honestly not sure she wants to hear whatever he's going to say. As a general rule of thumb, she and G don't have conversations like these. They just…don't.

And yet it's clear to both of them that after what they went through together, nearly dying several times, this is a discussion that they need to have.

"I'm sorry," he says.

She reacts with surprise to this. "For what, Callen? What happened to me wasn't your fault. You couldn't have know about the building or the quake."

"You're my agent."

She smiles at that, and for a moment, he's stunned into silence. Perhaps it's because he so often sees her as his tough as nails little sister, but for just a moment he remembers just how beautiful and amazing a woman she is.

Especially when she's smiling at him the way she is right now.

"That's what I am to you? Your agent? That's it?" she's teasing him now, and he finds that she's even capable of doing so relieves an enormously heavy weight from his chest. It means she's all right. She's going to be fine.

"You're my friend," he corrects.

She nods. "Exactly. And I don't remember every single thing that happened, but I do remember you holding me. I remember your voice. You helped me hold on."

"I wish that were true."

"It is."

"Kensi, when I left you – the only reason I left you – I went to go get help, but I failed. I didn't make it up the stairs. I passed out." He shakes his head thinking about it, thinking about collapsing on the stairs so very certain that he was letting her down. So very sure that he'd never be waking up again.

She reaches up, then, and touches his forehead, her fingers grazing the cut there. "I'm not surprised."

He puts his hand over hers. "I let you down." It's odd for him to be touching her – Callen isn't much for physical connections, that's more of a her and Sam thing, but for this moment in time, he needs it. And she understands completely.

"No, you didn't. We both made it out," she tells him, hand over his.

"No thanks to me."

"Or me, Callen."

"Kens, you…"

"Fell through a floor," she chuckles dryly. "I know." She indicates towards her ankle, but then shrugs her shoulder. "Doesn't change my mind or make me think I shouldn't have found a way to get ourselves out of that."

"Because you're Wonder Woman."

"And you're…well I don't know who you are, Callen, but I do know I'd follow you anywhere, and you know what it means for me to say that."

"I do."

"Good, then listen to me when I tell you that you don't owe me an apology."

"You're sure?"

"I am. No more guilt, Callen. It'll give you lines."

He laughs at that, and is about to say something when the door opens and Deeks steps inside, a McDonalds' bag clutched tight in his hand.

"Am I interrupting?" Deeks asks. He's cautious, unsure if this a moment that he wants to be stepping into. There's a kind of odd tension in the room. It's not weird or even necessarily uncomfortable, but there is something…unusual there.

"No, we were just…talking over what happened," Kensi says, smiling up at Callen. Her look tells him that as far as she's concerned, the discussion is over.

"She's telling me she didn't need saving," Callen quips.

"Is she now?" Deeks laughs, choosing to play along. He knows that they're steering him away from their conversation, but that's okay. What they'd gone through in that building had been between them, and he feels no need to intrude upon it. That doesn't mean he's not going to yank on the string Callen had provided him with, however. "And did she tell how she planned to get out of that building being all busted up and all?"

"I have my ways," Kensi answers back, feigning defiance.

"Uh huh. Well, Wonder Woman, I brought you your grease," Deeks states, holding up the bag. "Though I think if you keep downing these the way you do, you're going to make the invisible jet…"

"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you," she says, swatting at him.

"Not really scared of you right now."

"You never were all that bright," she shoots back.

"And on that note, I'm going to leave you guys to…this," Callen chuckles. "I just wanted to drop by and see you, Kens."

"Thanks, Callen."

"Thank you."

She smiles at him again, and this time, he can't help but answer it. After a moment, he turns and leaves.

Deeks waits until Callen is well gone before turning to face her partner, "You okay?" he asks, brow furrowing. She nods her head. "He okay?"

She thinks for a moment, and then nods her head. "Getting there. Now give me my breakfast. And no more cracks about my grease or I'll force feed you it."

"Wow, threats of violence. You are feeling better."

"Deeks."

"Here, here. Be nice."

"I'll be nice when I'm out of this bed," she replies as she practically tears open the bag. Truth be told, she'd been sick of this place about five minutes after she'd come to, but even she knows that she'd needed some degree of recovery.

Now, however, she feels well enough to go home and get on with things.

Things including Deeks.

* * *

A few days later, she gets her chance.

The rules are simple – she's allowed to go home, but only if home means someone is there with her to ensure she isn't putting her surgically repaired ankle in jeopardy. The rest of her injuries are well on the mend, but that one is precarious enough – especially with her well-known recklessness – to require a bit of constant caretaking.

Which Marty Deeks is only too happy to supply.

Her ankle has been fitted with a hard boot – one meant to allow movement all while protecting her from further injury. She's allowed to start using crutches, but the physical therapist is quick to remind her that she's at the very beginning of the process no matter her strength. There's a long way to go.

Everyone thinks to tell the therapist to up her expectations, but no one does.

Because they don't want to encourage Kensi to misbehave.

And they know she will.

The deal struck is that Deeks will stay with Kensi. He'd suggested the opposite way – her with him simply because his apartment less resembles a death trap (even more so since the quake which had caused many of her objects to fall and break) – but ultimately, the lack of stairs in her place make the decision for them.

* * *

He briefly considers carrying her across the threshold. It's only her look – one that tells him that she knows exactly what he's thinking – that stops him. Instead, he stands back and watches as she slowly crutches her way into her house.

Inside, once the door is closed behind her, she staggers towards her couch. It's only then when she allows him to offer her a hand and help her down onto the soft fabric. She sighs a bit as it just about swallows her whole.

"Can I put your leg up?" he asks, sounding more hopeful than he should.

"Deeks."

"What?"

"Please."

"Please, what?"

"We're home now, okay." She glances around, taking in the neatened up disarray of her house. The quake has taken its toll for sure, but Deeks has clearly been in here already, putting things as back together as he can manage.

For that, she's thankful.

Even if a whole slew of things are completely in the wrong place.

Organized chaos. Works for her.

"Okay? And?"

"And I need you to be you. When we were at the hospital, it was okay for you to be waiting on me hand and foot. It annoyed me but I understood. We're home now, and I don't want you doing that. I want…I want you to be my Deeks. I _need_ my Deeks now, okay?"

"Your Deeks?" he asks, trying to suppress a smile.

"My Deeks." She leans up then, grabs the collar of his shirt, pulls him down and kisses him as hard as she can. It's forceful and passionate, and for a moment, he's pretty damned sure that he can't breathe.

Which is just fine with him.

Until he actually can't breathe and he has no choice but to break away.

"So does this mean you've changed your mind about us?"

She groans.

"Oh you're kidding me," he sighs. "Really?"

"Deeks, I'm sitting on the couch with you, my hand under your shirt and you're asking me if I've changed my mind about breaking up with you. Really?"

"That's my line."

"You're lucky I didn't punch you."

"That's your line," he quips.

"Exactly." She shakes her head. "You're an idiot."

"But you love me."

She grows serious at this, leaning in to touch his face. "But I love you."

He swallows hard then because this is almost unbelievable to him. A couple weeks ago, he'd stood on the edge of destroying everything. He'd allowed his hurt and anger to overwhelm him when she'd allowed her fear to do the same.

They'd just about torn each other apart.

And now here they are.

It's simply too good to be true.

"You're here, right?" he asks.

"As opposed to?"

"Me dreaming?" But then he shakes his head. "No, if I was dreaming, you'd be…" he wriggles his eyebrows, a familiar almost lecherous and yet somehow amazingly charming smile crossing his lips.

"Would I now?"

"Oh yeah. In fact, when's the last time you took a bath?"

"What? Are you kidding me?"

"You've been in the hospital for the last few weeks. I know they let you use the shower but I doubt you've gotten to actually enjoy yourself any."

"No, I can't say that I did," she replies dryly.

"Well then allow me to fix that."

"Deeks!"

He doesn't give her much time – nor room – to protest. He simply lifts her up in her arms, and ignoring her demands to set her down, carries her into her bedroom. He then settles her onto her bed. "Stay here."

"Where else would I go?" she replies through grit teeth, through truth be told, she's rather enjoying herself. Still, it wouldn't do at all to let him know that.

"Don't know, but I'm not taking any chances," he says as he slips into the bathroom. She hears him turning on the water for the tub. A few minutes later, he emerges, sans socks and shoes and wearing just his cotton boxers. There are lavender smelling soapsuds on his hands.

"Someone thinks he's going to have some fun," Kensi notes, indicating towards his boxers. She lifts an eyebrow up, pretending to be scandalized.

"Someone didn't want to get his jeans and shoes wet," he shoots back. Then, leaning down to lift her up again, he says, "My lady?"

"Deeks, don't you dare. I will kick your ass if you even try."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You protest too much," he says as he picks her up into his strong arms once more. He carries her into the bathroom, and then dips her around so that she can see the now filled tub of water and suds. "Warm and soapy just like you like it."

"And you're just going to drop me into it?"

"Of course not. Don't want to get your boot wet," he grins. "But I am going to put you in it. With or without your help." He wriggles his eyebrows again when he says this. "And honestly, I'm okay with either option."

"You're a pig."

"I'm a pig who loves you."

It's his turn to make the connection now, to let her know that he won't ever leave her, at least not of his own free will. He locks eyes with her, won't pull away until she understands completely. Until she gets it.

She does.

But after a moment, they both have to get back to who they are. They both have to step away from the overwhelming emotion and sincerity of the connection.

She laughs, "What you are Deeks, is a sappy pig."

"More a soapy pig," he says as he steps into the water. He sloshes it a bit so that it sprays up on her, coating her arm with soap.

"Deeks, I'm still clothed," she protests, motioning to her own shorts. She'd very quickly realized the inconvenience of jeans in relation to her foot boot.

"Not a problem," he answers, before rather dropping them – without even a pretense of class or dignity – into the soapy water, clothes and all.

Still, somehow or another, he manages to keep her wounded ankle outside the tub, leaning up against a thick folded-over towel that he'd placed on the edge.

"Deeks!" she laughs.

Before she can say anymore, he kisses her. She has the sense to realize that the kiss is decidedly odd. They're both sitting half-clothed in soapy warm water and his hands are covered in suds, resting on her cheeks.

All of which should make this completely unromantic.

None of which actually does.

She pulls him towards her, deepening the kiss, holding onto him, her fingers weaving into his hair. The positioning isn't great, but he seems to realize it, and adjusts his body so as not to put pressure on her wounded foot.

And then he presses into her. He whispers something into her ear, a kind of promise, but she doesn't need words right now. Nor does he. After everything, they just want that which has always guided both of them – action.

They want the promise of motion, the guarantee of emotion.

And with each other, they receive the calm and forgiveness they both so desperately need and seek.

Somewhere along the way, the rest of their clothes get lost.

"We should get out of the water," Deeks notes as he watches another bubble dissolve into the now lukewarm quickly cooling water.

"Yeah," she admits lazily, her head rested back against his chest. "I look like an old lady." She holds up her hand to show him her wrinkled skin.

He laughs at that. "Hottest old lady ever."

"Mm hmm. If you think that's going to get you another round…"

"No, no. I know you're exhausted."

"I'm the one exhausted?"

"Well you are wounded."

She rolls her eyes. "All right, Prince Charming, how about you help me get out of this tub, and I show you just how wounded and exhausted I am."

"Was that a threat or a promise?"

"Which one would you prefer?" she quips, allowing one of her hands to slide down beneath the surface of the water. He feels her fingers slide against his sensitive skin a moment later, and can't help but hiss a bit in weak protest.

"All right, be nice," he says.

"I'm getting cold."

"Yes ma'am." He stands up then, smirking as he does so simply because he knows the visual he's presenting her with. He sees his discarded boxers lying a few feet away, tossed to the base of the toilet. Slowly, he steps out of the tub, wraps a towel around his waist, and then bends over and starts to lift her.

"Help me," she says softly. "I don't need to be carried."

He meets her eyes, understanding that she's telling him not only what she needs right now, but what she needs overall. She's a complicated woman, someone who isn't used to allowing others to help her. She's not going to become the damsel in distress even when it makes sense for her to. That's not who she is.

It's not who he'd want to be with anyway.

He slides an arm around her back, and slowly, with her arms wrapped around his neck, helps her up. Her balance is poor, but she's smart and holds onto him until she is able to steady herself outside the tub.

"Good?" he says.

She reaches up and touches his face, his fingers tracing his stubble. "Good."

_-fin_


End file.
